Star Light, Star Bright
by tashasfic
Summary: Jean and Scott as teenagers. Their fate is in the stars.
1. Preface: To Wish Upon A Star

Star Light, Star Bright  
  
by  
  
Tasha  
  
Disclaimer: The X-men aren't mine.  
  
Note: Some of the words in this fanfic may be in British English while others may be in American English. I'm sorry if this causes any confusion.  
  
This fic takes place during the early years when Jean, Scott, Warren, Bobby and Hank are the only students at the institute.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
"Where've you been? I was looking all over for you," Scott Summers greeted his best friend as she entered the spacious living room, her face flushed pink from the cool night air outside.  
  
"Warren and I went out," Jean Grey answered, sitting down beside him on the large couch, and smoothening back her long red hair.  
  
"For a drive?" He asked, finding it strange that she hadn't invited him as well.  
  
"For a fly," she corrected him, her face lighting up at the memory of where she had just been. "It was amazing."  
  
Not for the first time since Jean had come to live at 'The Xavier Institute  
  
For The Gifted,' her egalitarian nature making her a friend to all the boys present, he felt a stab of jealousy. Jean was his best friend, and ideally, he would have liked to be able to keep her all to himself, his friends being one of the few things he was very possessive about.  
  
"What's the matter with you?" She asked upon seeing the frown that had spread across his face.  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"Liar," she responded. "Come with me," she added taking his hand, "I want to show you something."  
  
"What?" He asked.  
  
"Something Warren took me to see; and I want to show you."  
  
"Where is it?"  
  
"Outside," she answered.  
  
"So go get it in. It's too cold out and warm in here," he said, not being very inclined to abandon his comfortable seat on the sofa to brave the unusually cold autumn air outside.  
  
"No; you have to come out to see it," she insisted.  
  
With a sigh, he reluctantly got up from his position, and after slipping on a jacket, followed her out into the garden.  
  
"So what did you want me to see?" He asked, once they had exited the mansion.  
  
"Look," she said, pointing up to the inky black sky, spangled with numerous stars.  
  
"What? There's nothing there," he protested.  
  
"Wait," she commanded. "There!" she exclaimed, suddenly grabbing his arm excitedly, and pointing up once again. Scott looked up, just in time to see a flash of light streak across the sky.  
  
"Wow," he said, mesmerized.  
  
"It's a meteor shower," Jean explained, sitting down on the lawn, her ankles crossed, knees pulled in to her chest, her face turned upwards towards the sky.  
  
"Cool huh?" She added as he joined her on the grass. "That's what Warren took me up to see."  
  
They watched the stars shooting across the sky in silence for several minutes, before she said, "Make a wish."  
  
"Why?" He asked, confused.  
  
"If you wish on a shooting star, it's supposed to come true," she explained.  
  
"If you say so," he said, raising a skeptical eyebrow, but even as he said it, he closed his eyes; unseen to her behind his rose colored glasses, and obeyed her instructions. He opened them a moment later to see her doing the same thing.  
  
"What did you wish for?" She asked him after she had opened her eyes.  
  
"That we get to see more stars together," he replied.  
  
"Me too," she said, smiling at her best friend.  
  
"They sat there, hand in hand, until they were too sleepy to stay up any longer. Just two best friends sitting together, watching the stars.  
  
------------------------------******************************---------------- ----------------- TBC..........  
  
Feedback is, as always appreciated. 


	2. Christmas Stars, Crushes and Imitating J...

uChapter 1:CENTER u Christmas Stars, Crushes, and Imitating Jean./CENTER  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
"It looks fantastic, Jean, Bobby."  
  
"Thank you, Professor," Jean said in response to Charles Xavier's compliment, as she proudly looked at the Christmas tree she and Bobby Drake had just spent an hour decorating.  
  
"Jean, phone!" Warren's voice floated into the room.  
  
"Back in a second," she said, turning and walking out into the hall, taking the phone from Warren's hand.  
  
"Hello?" She said into the receiver. Her face lit up in a smile when she heard the voice at the other end of the line.  
  
"Hi daddy!" She exclaimed happily. "Yeah, I'm sure I don't want to come with you'll," she replied in answer to one of her father's questions.  
  
"Yeah," she paused before continuing, "No; everyone is going to be here for Christmas this year." After a few more moments of conversation she ended, "Okay. I'll speak to you when you get back. Say 'Hi' to mom from me. Bye."  
  
"Where are your parents going?" Warren asked her as she put the phone down.  
  
"Los Angeles, to spend Christmas with my aunt and uncle," she answered.  
  
"You don't want to go?" He asked.  
  
"Yeah, like I'd love to go and have my own family continuously shooting me weird looks, like I'm going to telekinetically make their heads explode," she said dryly, rolling her eyes, though a hurt expression came across her face.  
  
"What about your parents?" She asked.  
  
"Switzerland," he replied. "Something about a skiing Christmas vacation."  
  
"Oh. Cool."  
  
"You guys finished trimming the tree?" He asked.  
  
"Yeah. Come see, "she replied.  
  
"Later. I need to make a phone call first."  
  
"Okay," she shrugged and went back to the living room where the tree had been set up.  
  
"Hey, Jean, we still need to put the star up," Bobby greeted her as she walked back in.  
  
"Can you reach the top?" She asked.  
  
"No. Can you T.K. it there?"  
  
"That's no fun. Where's your Christmas Spirit?" She protested, taking the star from his hand and handing it to Scott, who chose just that moment to enter the room.  
  
"Can you reach up there?" She asked.  
  
"Yeah," he answered, stretching his arm to place the star on the topmost branch.  
  
"It looks great. Thanks Scott," she said, smiling in delight at the shimmering, sequined gold star.  
  
"Welcome. It looks good. You guys did a great job."  
  
"Yeah, but we needed you for the most important part."  
  
"I thought the 'spirit of giving was supposed to be the most important part," he teased her, with an amused grin.  
  
"Yeah well..... that too."  
  
"And don't forget the presents," he quipped.  
  
"And the presents," she agreed; "and speaking of presents, I still have to wrap yours. I'll see you later," she added, walking out of the room.  
  
"Oh man, you /i have a crush on her," Bobby said, after having watched the proceedings between his two friends with a silence that was unusual for him, he being a chatterbox in the very sense of the word.  
  
"No way!" Scott protested promptly, though a light blush began to spread over his face.  
  
"What's going on, guys?" Warren asked, coming into the room.  
  
"Scott has the hots for Jean," Bobby announced cheerfully.  
  
"Oh," Warren responded to this piece of information with a frown.  
  
"Bobby, I don't have a crush on anyone, least of all Jean."  
  
"Oh no, you weren't flirting with her at all," the younger boy said.  
  
"Who's flirting?" Came the question from the last and final student of the school, Hank McCoy, who had finally emerged from his laboratory below.  
  
"Jean and Scott," Bobby grinned.  
  
"We weren't flirting."  
  
"No. Of course you weren't," Bobby agreed sarcastically, rolling his eyes. Then, in what was supposed to be an imitation of Jean, he fluttered his eyelashes, and in a high falsetto voice, said, "Oh, where is my knight in shining armor to help me? I need him to put the star on top of the tree and make my Christmas so special, and...." His pantomime of Jean flirting with Scott, was rapidly cut short, by the taller boy, throwing a cushion from the couch nearby at him.  
  
"I don't think Jeannie would appreciate your imitation of her voice, my dear comrade. I don't recommend repeating the performance when she's near," suggested Hank, with an amused smile.  
  
"What performance when who's near?" Came the voice of the redhead as she re- entered the room, a roll of wrapping paper in her hand.  
  
"Nothing," came four voices simultaneously giving the same reply, before leaving the room in a hurry, Bobby and Hank trying to mask their laughter, all avoiding her gaze; leaving Jean standing by the Christmas tree, bemused, alone, and curious.  
  
*************************************  
  
Feedback is, as always appreciated. 


	3. A Guide To The Constellations

CENTERA Guide To The Constellations/CENTER  
  
~ ~ ~ ~  
  
"Come on you guys! Wake up!" Jean Grey called out from the hallway to Hank and Scott, who were fast asleep behind the locked door of the room they shared. "Okay, if you don't open the door, I'm coming in." Upon getting no answer, she closed her eyes and concentrated on telekinetically picking the lock of their door. She smiled triumphantly as the lock clicked, and pushing the door open, she jumped on Scott's bed, causing the mattress to bounce up and down, and him, to whimper in protest.  
  
"What time is it?" Hank asked lazily from his bed at the other end of the room with a yawn.  
  
"Eight o'clock."  
  
"Jean, you're on vacation. Sleep," Scott protested, nudging her with his leg to the edge of his bed.  
  
"It's Christmas, and I want to open our presents. Warren, Bobby, and the Professor are already waiting downstairs for you."  
  
"How on earth you get them to wake up?" Scott asked her.  
  
"Same way I got you up," she replied, smiling broadly.  
  
"Fine, we'll be down in fifteen minutes," Hank mumbled sleepily.  
  
"Make it five," Jean said, getting up, and leaving them to get dressed.  
  
Ten minutes later, the two boys made their way down to the kitchen, to be greeted by a mixture of "good mornings" and "Merry Christmases" from the four people who were already assembled downstairs, eating their breakfast.  
  
After half an hour or so, they were all sorting through their various gifts which lay under the large evergreen boughs of the elaborately decorated tree.  
  
"Uh, Jean," Scott said, handing her a large, brightly wrapped parcel. "Merry Christmas. There's a card inside," he added.  
  
"Thanks Scott," she said, taking the gift, and carefully unwrapping it, in a manner extremely different from the one in which he had impatiently ripped the wrapping paper off his presents. Discarding the paper, she looked down at the gift in her lap. The glossy cover of the book he had given her, bore the title, "A Guide To The Stars and Constellations." The small card attached to it read, 'Thank you for showing me the stars. Merry Christmas. I hope you like the gift."  
  
"It's for the shooting stars we were watching that night, two months ago. You said you wished you knew more about them, remember? You can exchange it at the bookshop, if you don't like it," he told her, rambling on, anxious that she should like what he had given her.  
  
"This is so sweet. Thank you, Scott," she replied, leaning over to give him a brief hug, much to the amusement of Bobby, who, having opened all his presents, was watching everyone open theirs.  
  
"It's no big deal," Scott protested, embarrassed by the hug she had just given him. "Everyone is exchanging Christmas gifts."  
  
'Yeah, but not everyone remembers what I like."  
  
"You really like it?" He asked, feeling strangely relieved.  
  
"Love it. Thanks. I wish I'd gotten you something better," she said regretfully.  
  
"Are you kidding? It's great!" He exclaimed, referring to the C.D. and shirt she had bought him.  
  
"Jean here, open mine next," Warren interrupted their conversation, handing her a small box. It's elegant, obviously professional, store wrapping of dull gold, catching the sunlight, streaming in through the large French Windows.  
  
"Thanks Warren," she said, opening it to see a delicate charm bracelet. "Wow, it's beautiful."  
  
"I thought you'd like it," he replied, pleased with his gift choice. Leaning over, Jean gave him a thank you hug, and Scott felt a familiar flash of jealousy, a knot seeming to form in the pit of his stomach.  
  
He looked away and caught Bobby's eye. The younger boy was looking between him and Warren with an amused grin painted across his face, as if he knew something Scott didn't.  
  
"What?" He snapped with impatience unlike his normal, passive, unreadable demeanor.  
  
"Nothing," Bobby answered him calmly. Though if looks could kill, we would be short one flying X-Man right now. No pun on your powers intended." Saying this, he turned away to talk to Hank. He was well aware of his friend's high tolerance level, but could see that he had reached his limit. An annoyed Cyclops was not a scenario he wanted to deal with. Odysseus, he, afterall, was not.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Feedback is, as always, loved and appreciated. 


	4. Conversations On The Porch, Jealousy, an...

Conversations On The Porch, Jealousy, and Not A Date  
  


"Hey Jeannie," Warren greeted her, as he walked out to the porch, where she sat, engrossed in a book, one spring afternoon.  
  
"Hey War," she answered. "When did you get back?" she asked, knowing that he had left earlier in the morning to spend the day with his parents, who had flown into New York for a couple of days.  
  
"Half an hour ago," sitting down on the chair next to hers. "Hey, you like art, right?" He asked her suddenly, as if an idea had just occurred to him.  
  
"Yeah, why?"  
  
"Dad got a couple of passes for a special preview of some paintings at a soiree tomorrow, and I was wondering if you'd be interested in going," he explained.  
  
"Oh my God! You mean the Monet exhibition in the city? It's all over the papers!" Jean exclaimed excitedly.  
  
"Uh, yeah, I think that's the one," he said. "So you want to go?"  
  
"Are you kidding me? Of course I'd love to go!"  
  
"Great," he responded. "It starts at eight, so if we leave by about six thirty, we can get an early dinner, and still be there at half past eight."  
  
"Okay," she answered, smiling.  
  
"It's a plan then," he replied, walking back into the house, a triumphant grin on his face.  
  


* * *

"Wow... you look nice," Scott said, as Jean entered the room the next evening.  
  
"Thanks," she replied. "Can you fasten this for me?" she asked him, holding out a gold chain with a small gold locket dangling from it.  
  
"So, where are you going?" he asked, taking the chain from her hand, and trying to fasten the clasp.  
  
"To an art show with Warren," she answered, holding up her hair, to make the task of attaching her jewelry easier for him.  
  
A frown crossed his face at this unexpected piece of information.  
  
"You mean on a date?"  
  
"No, don't be ridiculous, Scott. I don't like Warren like that."  
  
"If it's not a date, then why are you all dressed up?" He challenged her.  
  
"Because it says, 'Formal wear, Black Tie' on the card," she said, rolling her eyes at him.  
  
"So, Jean, you ready to go?" Warren asked her, walking into the room a moment later, cutting short any more questions from Scott.  
  
"Yes," she nodded. "Just let me get my purse."  
  
"You're taking her on a date?" Scott blurted out, the second Jean was out of earshot.  
  
"Yeah. You got a problem with that?" Warren asked defiantly.  
  
"Jean doesn't think it's a date."  
  
"She will before the night is over," Warren said smugly.  
  
"Warren, I swear, if you make her do anything she doesn't want to, I'll..."  
  
"Chill out, O Fearless Leader," the older boy cut into Scott's tirade. "I'd never hurt her. Besides, she can take care of herself, or haven't you noticed her when she's up against Magneto yet?"  
  
"I've noticed enough to know that she trusts you, and likes you as a friend," he replied, emphasizing the word 'friend'.  
  
"Warren smirked back at him in reply, before asking, "since when did you take over the Prof's position as resident telepath?"  
  
"Then upon hearing the echo of Jean's footsteps as she walked down the hall, "I'd better go. I wouldn't want to keep Jean waiting, her surrogate elder brother might not approve."  
  
With that said, he turned, and left the room. A moment later, Scott heard the door slam, as one of his best friends and teammates, left the house with the girl he realized he was slowly falling in love with. 

* * *

Feedback as always, is appreciated and loved.


	5. Date Disaster

Date Disaster   
  
"Warren look at that one, isn't it beautiful?" Jean said in excitement, clutching Warren's hand as she dragged him towards yet, another Monet, which seemed to him an almost exact replica of the one they had seen previously.  
  
"It's great Jean," he agreed, trying to stifle a yawn, and failing miserably. Monet, he had decided, was the most boring impressionist painter the world had ever seen. All of his supposed masterpieces which hung around the gallery, were of either water lilies, churches or haystacks, and after the tenth painting, he was ready to leave. Jean, however, on the other hand, had been totally enamored of the works of art in front of her, and had enthusiastically gone from painting to painting admiring each of the pictures, pointing out parts and talking about them, in what seemed to Warren, an absolute mess of painter's jargon, none of which he seemed to quite understand.  
  
"I mean, just look at the way the light is reflected in the water, it's such a perfect example of impressionism in its true form."  
  
"Mr. Worthington, is it not?" Came a voice from Warren's right. He turned to see a portly, distinguished looking man walking towards him.  
  
"Yes," he nodded, trying to recollect whom the stranger was.  
  
"I'm Mr. Connell. I believe we met at a dinner party thrown by your parents some months ago. I'm so sorry they couldn't make it today," he said.  
  
"They were sorry as well, but they unfortunately had a prior engagement," Warren replied, trying to make small talk with a man he'd probably never set eyes on again.  
  
"Are you here alone?" Came the next question.  
  
"No. I'm here with my friend over there," Warren replied, nodding in Jean's direction.  
  
"Ah, admiring the 'Impression Sunrise.' Your friend seems to have a fine taste for the arts. If you will excuse me, I see someone I know. A pleasure to meet you once again,"" he said, shaking Warren's hand before walking towards a couple who had just entered.  
  
"Who was that?" Jean asked Warren curiously, having caught the last few words of the conversation.  
  
"Some guy who knows my parents. Apparently you have a 'fine taste' for art."  
  
"They're just so amazing," she said.  
  
"Yeah, but we've been here for over two hours. You think you might want to leave soon?"  
  
"It's been two hours already? I didn't even realize it," she replied, looking at her watch a little guiltily. She had caught vibes of boredom coming from Warren more than once, but simply hadn't been able to tear herself away from the paintings.  
  
"We can leave whenever you like. I've seen them all."  
  
"Great," Warren replied, a relieved look breaking across his face, as they began to walk towards the exit.  
  
"So, you had fun tonight?" Warren asked Jean as he pulled his car into the mansion's garage later that night.  
  
"A fantastic time. Thanks for taking me, Warren."  
  
"Welcome."  
  
"Scott is still awake, "she said as she looked up at the house to see his bedroom light switched on. "He was acting really weird earlier," she added. "He kept asking me stuff like, why I was dressed up if I wasn't going on a date, and stuff."  
  
Warren stopped short at her words, and turned around so that they faced each other.  
  
"Isn't it?"  
  
"Isn't it what?"  
  
"A date?"  
  
Jean paused, unsure of what to say. Her telepathy wasn't very well developed, but the sudden rush of feelings of confusion combined with want coming from Warren, was something even she could sense.  
  
"It seemed like a date to me," he went on. "Guy asks girl out. Girl says yes. They get dinner, hang out, talk. Guy drops girl home. I think it covers all the necessary 'date' criteria"  
  
"Yeah, but it also could just be two friends having fun," Jean said a little cautiously.  
  
"And friendship can grow into something more," Warren answered, leaning closer towards her, so that their faces were just a couple of inches apart.  
  
"I know it can, but I don't think it would be a good idea for our friendship to change."  
  
"I do. Trust me, Jean," he said softly, before bringing his lips down to hers in a soft kiss.

* * *

  
  
"Warren, stop it! What are you doing?" Jean protested, angrily pulling away from him.  
  
"It's okay, Jean"  
  
"Warren, you're crazy."  
  
"Jean, come on, you know you're attracted to me."  
  
"Then why do I keep it such a secret from myself?" She asked him sarcastically.  
  
"Jean...," he began to say, but was cut short by the telekinetic shove Jean gave him, pushing him away from her, before turning on her heel and stalking into the house.

* * *

  
  
Feedback is, as always loved and appreciated. 


	6. Confrontations and Working It Out

Confrontations and Working It Out  


"Unh," Jean groaned as she awoke to the shrill, piercing buzz of her alarm clock. Rolling over, she extended an arm, which lazily flopped over the top of her bedside table, before finding its mark, and switching it off. She lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling for a moment, before the events of the previous night came rushing back to her.  
  
"Unh," she groaned, louder this time, before getting out of bed, and reaching for a barrette, tied her hair up in a messy ponytail, and made her way over to the bathroom to wash her face.  
  
An hour later, showered and dressed, she made her way down the stairs, and obeying the growls in her stomach, walked to the kitchen.  
  
Just as she was spreading cream cheese on her bagel, Scott entered the kitchen.  
  
"You woke up early," she said, looking at his track pants and sweatshirt.  
  
"Yeah, I went for a jog," he answered, before chugging down a glass of water. "It's getting pretty warm." She nodded in agreement.  
  
"Do you want one?" She asked, holding up her bagel.  
  
"Yeah. Thanks," he said, taking the proffered plate, with the cinnamon bagel and thick layer of cream cheese which she passed him.  
  
"So how was last night?" He asked her, after taking a bite.  
  
She chewed a piece of her breakfast, and took a swig of her orange juice before answering, "Not so good."  
  
"How come?" he asked, confused. "I mean, you like art, and knowing Warren, you guys probably went to a good restaurant."  
  
"We went to - - actually, "she said, naming one of the more expensive and exclusive restaurants in Westchester. "The food was good, the art was great, and you were right."  
  
"Right about the restaurant?" he asked, confused.  
  
"Right about Warren," she corrected. "He did think we were going on a date."  
  
"Oh," he gave her a monosyllabic answer.  
  
"That's all you have to say?" She asked.  
  
"Sorry. What happened?" He asked in a more concerned voice this time, rolling his eyes behind his glasses.  
  
"I felt you do that."  
  
"Do what?"  
  
"Roll your eyes. It gives off a kind of weird feeling I can pick up."  
  
"You're getting better at the telepathy," he praised her.  
  
"I know."  
  
"So what happened?" He asked again.  
  
"Warren kissed me," she answered, looking down at her plate, as if its contents were so fascinating, she could barely take her eyes off them.  
  
"Oh," came the monosyllabic answer again.  
  
"I didn't like it, I pushed him away. He kept telling me to admit that I was attracted to him, or something," she said dully, picking at her bagel with a fork, making a pattern of little holes in the surface.  
  
"Did he hurt you?" Scott asked her, his voice having taken on a strange, low, almost frightening tone.  
  
"No. I'm okay. It's just that, I really didn't want to kiss him. I mean, I think of Warren more as my older brother kind of friend than as my boyfriend, you know?"  
  
"What are you going to do now?" He asked her.  
  
"Nothing. I mean, if Warren wants to talk, we'll talk, or otherwise, just let it go. It's not like he's a bad guy or anything. He just got confused." She paused before saying, "Scott, don't tell anyone I told you, okay?"  
  
He remained silent.  
  
"Scott, promise me you won't say anything. Least of all to Warren," she said, urgently grasping his hand. "Please," she added.  
  
"Fine," he said finally, "But if he ever does anything like that again, I'll kill him."  
  
"No you wont. He's your friend."  
  
"I'm speaking figuratively. I will do something if he does, though."  
  
"He wont. I know Warren. He just got upset. He doesn't take rejection too well," Jean said, taking their plates to the sink to rinse.  
  
"Thanks," he said, as she washed his plate along with her own.  
  
"No problem, "she answered; "and Scott... thanks for listening."  
  
He grinned at her, "Anytime Jean."  
  
"Have any of you guys seen Jean?" Warren's voice reached Jean's ears. It was already the afternoon, and she had successfully avoided Warren the entire day so far, not wanting to have, what would undoubtedly end up being a strained conversation between them. She paused for a moment in the hallway, unsure of whether she should continue to the library, where she knew the rest of the school's students were, or escape to her room where she could take refuge from the confrontation she dreaded so much.

* * *

"Jean?" Warren asked her suddenly, appearing in the hallway in plain view. Sighing as her decision was made for her, she looked up at him, "Yeah?"  
  
"Have you been avoiding me, or have we just been missing each other all day?" He asked her.  
  
"We just haven't run into each other so far, I guess," Jean answered, staring fixatedly at a point above Warren's shoulder, trying to avoid his eyes. She was a terrible liar, and she knew it.  
  
"Look, can we talk?" He asked her a little uncomfortably. Taking her silence as consent, he went on, "Jean, I'm really sorry about last night. I know what I did was wrong. I had no right to kiss you like that, nor to presume that we were on a date. I realize now, that my actions were incredibly stupid, and I cannot even begin to express how sorry I am. I thought you were interested in me, but I guess I misread the signs, and I hope we can get past this and still be friends," he paused for breath, and Jean, on whose face the beginnings of a smile had begun to form, asked, "How long did it take you to think up that speech?"  
  
"Fifteen minutes," he said a little shamefacedly, "I actually wrote it down, if you want to read it," he added, pulling a small folded up piece of paper from his back pocket, and holding it out to her. Ignoring the paper, she instead looked up at his face.  
  
"You're really sorry?" She asked.  
  
"Extremely."  
  
"And you admit you've been a jerk?"  
  
"Yes Ma'am."  
  
"And I'm the best?"  
  
"You know you are, Jeannie."  
  
"Forgiven," she said, a full-fledged smile now across her lips. "I'm sorry too."  
  
"For what?"  
  
"For sending you mixed signals, or whatever you were rambling about back there."  
  
He grinned back at her, "Forgiven."  
  
"So, you want to help me with my homework?" She asked.  
  
"It's not algebra, is it?" He asked, shooting her a disgusted look.  
  
She shook her head, "No; I have to practice telekinetically picking up objects of avout your weight."  
  
"You're kidding me, right?"  
  
She shook her head again in response. "No. Ask the Professor, if you want. Infact, he specifically recommended you, because you can keep yourself up, if I lose my grip," she said, referring to his flying abilities, thanks to his immense, down-like, white wings. Besides, you still owe me."  
  
"Fair enough. Lets go outside."  
  
"Great."

* * *

"So, uh... did you tell anyone about last night?" He asked her as they walked through the sprawling grounds, back to the mansion, an hour later.  
  
"Just Scott."  
  
"Oh man... no wonder he was acting weird all day," he said, a sudden comprehension over his fellow student's outright, rude behavior dawning over him.  
  
"He was pretty angry when I told him," she added.  
  
"Yeah, I'll bet," he muttered under his breath.  
  
"What was that?" She asked, turning towards him.  
  
"Nothing important. Lets go inside, I'm hungry," he said, striding off towards the mansion, Jean hurrying to keep up in his wake.

* * *

Feedback, as always, is appreciated. 


	7. Licensed To Drive

Licensed To Drive

"You got it?" Jean asked Scott excitedly, a month later after her little 'incident' with Warren, as she privately referred to their disaster of a date.

"Yup," he answered, grinning at her.

"He did great," Hank added, stepping out of the car and slamming the door shut. "The examiner was impressed, to say the least."

"So…. Show me!" Jean said literally jumping with excitement.

"Show you what?"

"Your license!" She exclaimed.

"I look terrible in it," he protested.

"Everyone looks terrible in any photograph of importance, Scott," Hank interjected. "It's one of the natural laws of photography, as Jean will be sure to tell you," he said, referring to Jean's latest hobby of photography, to which she had taken with a passion.

"Show me, Scott," Jean pleaded with him, repeating her earlier demand.

Sighing in defeat, he pulled his license out of his wallet and handed it over to her. Her mouth dropped open in surprise as she stared in wordless fascination at the picture.

In all normal aspects, her friend had been right, it was terrible; but what fascinated her, was the fact that instead of his red glasses he normally wore, his bare face simply stared up at her.

"Scott, your eyes. How did you…?" She began, looking into the blue eyes of the boy in the photograph before her.

"Professor Xavier managed to get a photograph of me from the orphanage before my powers went out of control, and Hank manipulated a picture of me on the computer, so that my eyes matched the ones in the photograph," he explained.

"They're so blue," she said, unable to take her eyes off his license picture.

"Or at least they were the last time I saw them," he said dryly, taking his license back from her reluctant hands.

_Scott, I'd like to see you as soon as possible,_ came the telepathic voice of Professor Xavier projected into his mind.

"The professor wants to see me," he said, heading towards the mansion's doorway, putting an end to their discussion.

"You called me, Sir?" he asked a few minutes later, upon finding the Professor sitting in his plush, elaborately furnished study.

"Yes, Scott. I wanted to congratulate you on getting your license."

"How did you know I passed the test?" Scott asked.

"Was there ever any doubt of it?" Professor Xavier asked him with a benign smile. "You expertly pilot a jet on a regular basis when you're out on missions. I felt a car would be a cakewalk for you."

Scott acknowledged this unexpected bit of praise from the man he looked up to as an adoptive father, with an embarrassed smile.

"And, I have something for you," he said, handing Scott a small, square box. "I've never had any children before, but I believe it's customary to give a teenager with a license to drive a gift."

Surprised, Scott opened the box, to reveal a key chain in the shape of a star with his name carved into it, attached to what was unmistakably, a set of car keys.

"Wow," Scott said quietly, putting the box down, and holding the keys in the palm of his hand.

"You'll find the rest of your gift in the garage. I trust you know what to do with it," the Professor said, watching Scott's stunned expression, with something close to amusement.

"Wow," Scott repeated again. "Thank you so much, Professor. You didn't need to. It wasn't necessary."

"Jean chose the key chain. You might want to thank her for that,": Professor Xavier cut him off. "As for thanking me, one simple 'thank you' is more than enough. Scott, I am your legal guardian, and it is my duty, not to mention, my pleasure to provide you with things that you, or any other boy of your age wants, or needs. You insist on sharing a room, though there is more place in this house than I know what to do with, you willingly carry out more than your share of chores around the house, you rarely ask me for anything; I don't think a car is such a luxury, that you don't deserve to own one."

Blushing a shade even redder than his ruby quartz glasses at these words, Scott opened his mouth to thank the Professor, yet another time, but his teacher interrupted.

"Your thoughts are literally screaming out your thanks Scott, along with the fact that you're dying to see the car. Go try it out , and take Jean with you," he added. "She's been clamoring for a ride in it since it got here last evening."

"Thank you, Sir," he blurted out a last time, before leaving the room in a hurry, and rushing down to he garage, only to find "Jean, who, having been in the Professor's confidence, was already waiting there for him.

* * *

Feedback is, as always, loved and appreciated.


	8. On The Court

On The Court  


_"True love comes quietly;_

_If you hear bells, get your ears cheched"_

_ -- Erich Segal_

* * *

"...five, six, seven, eight, nine...," Scott muttered to himself, as he dribbled the ball down the basketball court before attempting to shoot it into the hoop above.  
  
"Damn it," he cursed under his breath as the ball bounced off the rim of its target, and fell back to the concrete floor of the court.  
  
He walked to the edge of the basketball court, and took a swig of water from the bottle he had brought out; then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. It was hot. Very hot. The heat wave that was spreading through Westchester was unlike anything he had ever experienced, and though his energy converting powers literally feeded off the sun's rays, the heat was beginning to get to him.  
  
He walked about the court, aimlessly dribbling the ball from one end to another, contemplating thoughts, which had been on his mind since the past few months, most of which revolved around Jean.  
  
He could barely understand his own feelings. When Professor Xavier had found him, he had been a terrified and confused thirteen year old, to put it mildly. He had been angry, suicidal, and had almost forgotten what it was like to trust anyone but himself. Having been shuffled around from orphanages, to foster homes, to finally ending up in a remand home, where he had been housed in the same dingy room, more a jail cell than anything else, with other older teenagers, both boys and girls, who had been convicted of crimes far worse than his, of pick-pocketing a few wallets just to have enough to fill his stomach. Living with people who'd misused and exploited him physically, sexually, and emotionally, he was not exactly a typical teenage boy, even without his mutant abilities.  
  
He had never thought he'd be physically attracted to anyone. The things he had been forced to do just to earn enough money to feed himself while on the streets had assured him of that.  
  
It had taken him a long time to relearn how to do things, which came so naturally to others. To accept help, to learn forgiveness and friendship; these were all concepts which had been foreign to him at first, and he had often felt lost, as if entrapped in a maze of life he didn't quite know how to get out off.  
  
Jean had been his best friend from the very beginning. There had been a strange connection between them from the start, which no one could exactly put their finger on. Some people said it was because of their similar love for reading and eating the strangest food combinations, ranging from peanut butter and chips, to chocolate brownies with satay sauce; others blamed it on circumstance, which had brought them, as two lonely children, together. Whatever it was, the bond between them, was indisputably a strong one, and their friendship stemmed from a force stronger than either of them knew.  
  
He had always shared a special sense of closeness with Jean. In the months following his 'rescue' by the Professor, he had been reclusive, and had kept mostly to himself. He had shied away from company, and had despised touch of any kind. The others, sensing this, made it a point not to even give him a simple high-five, though they had always invited him to partake in any of their activities.  
  
Jean had been different. She had never hesitated to grab his arm in excitement, or lightly slap him in exasperation. She was the one who had given him his first real hug since before he had been able to remember. Her persistence and complete disregard for his false excuses of why he preferred to be left alone, rather than take part in any activity with the other students, had strangely been what had drawn him to her, and helped make them the friends they were.  
  
She knew his past, though not in every explicit detail. Somethings, he felt she didn't need to know yet; and he in turn knew about her history. She had told him of how her powers had manifested when her childhood friend had died in her arms due to a hit and run accident, and the coma she had lain in for almost a year.  
  
They had told each other their fears, and disclosed their nightmares. He knew her better than anyone, but he still couldn't fathom what he felt for her.  
  
"Is this a private game, or can anyone play?" A voice interrupted his thoughts. Scott looked up to see the school's resident 'scientist' standing before him.  
  
"Here Hank," he said, throwing the ball towards his friend, who bean to slowly dribble it down the court.  
  
"When did Jean leave?" he asked Scott.  
  
"About two hours ago," Scott answered. Jean had left that day to spend, what she had described to him as a, 'weekend at the torture house,' at home with her family.  
  
"What were you thinking of?"  
  
"What makes you think I was thinking?"  
  
"Ah, the fact that I had to repeat your name thrice before you even looked in my direction, was one of my first indications," Hank answered, grinning and shooting the ball through the hoop with perfect precission.  
  
"You want to talk about it?" he asked Scott  
  
"About what?"  
  
"About what you were musing about, with what can only be described as a pensive look on your face.  
  
"Not really," Scott answered, catching the ball.  
  
There was a pregnant pause, before Hank began to speak again, "I do realize that I'm not Jean, who being a natural empath is, undoubtedly the easiest person to talk to, but as far as listeners go, I'm not so bad, even if I do say so myself."  
  
"Trust me, Hank; you don't want to know."  
  
"Try me."  
  
Scott sighed, before beginning, "Well, it's like this. Jean is my best friend, and I love her like a best friend. I mean, I'd do anything for her, and it's always been like that," he paused for a second, unsure of how to continue. "It's just that lately, I get these weird feelings when I look at her, you know?"  
  
"What kind of feelings?" Came the inevitable question.  
  
"I don't know... 'love,' kind of feelings. I mean, I always loved her, but now I really _love_ her," he said, emphasizing the word 'love'. He paused for a second time before saying the thought that had been lurking at the back of his mind for months.  
  
"Hank, I think I'm in love with Jean."  
  
Hank silently digested this new piece of information. He had always felt that Scott had been a little in awe of Jean's looks, and trusted her implicitly, but he had never thought that his friend's feelings ran that deep.  
  
"It's just so strange," Scott was saying. "It wasn't like I saw her and boom, it was love at first sight of anything. It's like it grew," he said, trying to express himself, finding that no words existed to describe his feelings.  
  
"To quote Erich Segal, my friend,

_'True love comes quietly; _

_If you hear bells, get your ears checked,'_" Hank said, more because he felt the need to answer Scott, than he had any advice worth giving to say.  
  
"Don't give me your damn clichés and sayings, Hank," Scott muttered. "They don't help my case." He heaved a sigh as he looked up at the sky, which was changing to a darker shade of blue, more black to his eyes, against which the first stars had begun to appear.  
  
"Well, if you want my advice, I think you should tell her," Hank suggested finally.  
  
"Yeah, great; and have her think I'm crazy," Scott replied sarcastically.  
  
"From what you've told me, you don't sound crazy. Confused, yes. Crazy, no."  
  
"In response to Scott's silence, he continued, "If you don't tell her, you'd never know what she'd say in return. Wouldn't you rather know, than spend your life wondering what might have been?"  
  
Then turning around, he tossed the ball to Scott.  
  
"I have to go check on one of my experiments...... The ball is in your court, Scott. Think about it."

* * *

Feedback, as always is loved and appreciated. 


	9. Garage and Garden Talks

Garage and Garden Talks

"Hey you."  
  
Scott poked his head out from under the hood of his car, to meet the smiling eyes of Jean. It had been two days since his conversation with Hank, and though his feelings for Jean seemed to grow stronger with each passing minute, he still hadn't made a decision on what to do about them.  
  
"Hi," he responded.  
  
"I thought I might find you here," she said walking up to him and giving him an unexpected hug.  
  
"What was that for?" he asked, surprised at her sudden burst of affection.  
  
She rolled her eyes before answering, "I think I realized this weekend just how much I miss all of you guys when you'll aren't around."  
  
"You didn't have a good time with your parents?"  
  
"That's putting it mildly. I don't think I've ever been so glad to be back here."  
  
"You mean to say you prefer Hank's constant analogies, Warren's flirting, my teasing, and Bobby's corny jokes, to a lovely weekend at Annandale on Hudson with your nearest and dearest?" he teased her.  
  
"Infinitely;" she said; "and I don't think 'dearest' describes what I feel like doing to my sister right now."  
  
"What did she do?" he asked.  
  
"I'd rather not talk about it; and speaking of Bobby's corny jokes, what do you say when Cyclops escapes from his enemies?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"That he's scot-free," she said, enunciating the word, 'scot'.  
  
"Bad humor, Jean."  
  
"Tell Bobby. He's making up riddles for everyone's names."  
  
"What's yours?"  
  
"What do you call a denim clad girl?"  
  
"Jean?" he guessed the answer with a wry smile.  
  
"Yup."

* * *

"So anything interesting happen while I was away?"  
  
"Warren got a new girlfriend," he said.  
  
"What's she like?" Jean asked, then without waiting for an answer, she continued, "Wait don't answer that. Let me guess, she's got a great figure, long legs, and not a brain in her artificially colored, peroxide-blond head."  
  
"Well you got it mostly right. She's got bright pink hair actually."  
  
"Pink?" Jean asked incredulously, choking back her laughter.  
  
"Well Hank said it's a very light strawberry-blond with red streaks. Strawberry-blond and red generally tend to make your hair look strawberry- pink."  
  
Jean giggled at this hair color analogy, clearly amused.  
  
"So, what are you looking at?" she asked, nodding at the car engine he was poking around.  
  
"I'm checking to see if the carburetor and exhaust manifold are in perfect working order, and that the alternator isn't disturbing the fan belt," he answered confidently.  
  
"Really?" she asked, impressed at what appeared to be an extensive knowledge of cars to her.  
  
"Or something like that," he said, sheepishly holding up a copy of a car mechanics magazine.  
  
Just as Jean was about to reply, they were interrupted by Bobby, who came running in to the garage, as if for his life.  
  
"Hide me," he said desperately to Jean.  
  
"What did you do?" Scott asked him.  
  
"I, uh, listened in on Warren's conversation with Minksy."  
  
"Minksy?" Jean grinned. "That's got to be the weirdest name any of his dates have ever had."  
  
Bobby nodded energetically. "They were having a discussion, and, uh, Warren caught me listening on the extension outside when the room door swung open."  
  
"What were they talking about?" Scott asked curiously.  
  
"Stuff; apparently the kind I'm not supposed to know about. You wouldn't believe the names she has for her little 'Warry-baby'."  
  
"Warry-baby?"  
  
"Yeah, she was all like, don't worry my little Warry-baby."  
  
"I think I hear Warren," Jean interrupted before he could say any more.  
  
"Oh man!" Bobby exclaimed, opening the back door of Scott's car, and getting in, ducked to remain unseen.  
  
"Drake, I'm going to kill you!" Warren shouted, storming intro the garage.  
  
"Have either of you guys seen Bobby?" he asked angrily, looking around.  
  
"No," Jean and Scott answered simultaneously, shaking their heads.  
  
"He's gone, Bobby," Scott said smirking.  
  
"Great. Thanks," the younger boy said, heaving a sigh of relief as he left the car. "I owe you guys. Big time."  
  
"Yeah, apologize to Warren before our next danger room session so he doesn't pulverize you, and we'll call it even," Scott said, grinning.  
  
"Later. When there are enough people around to prevent him from killing me," Bobby said, strolling out of the garage.  
  
"Well that was interesting," Jean said, looking at Bobby's retreating back, amused at the events that had just taken place. "You done?" she asked seeing Scott close the bonnet of his car.  
  
"Yeah," he answered.  
  
"You want to go for a walk?" she asked him.  
  
"Sure," he agreed, wiping his greasy hands on a towel.  
  
The warm summer breeze ruffled their hair as they walked through the mansion's sprawling grounds under the stars. The pink of the twilight sky faded into a deeper shade of blue. Jean linked her arm through Scott's in their usual, familiar manner, as they strolled towards the school's boathouse.  
  
"What are you thinking?" she asked him, looking over at his contemplative expression.  
  
"Stuff."  
  
"Care to share?"  
  
"Can I ask you something?" Scott suddenly blurted out after a minute of silence.  
  
"Go out with me?" he said.  
  
"What?" Jean asked, confused.  
  
"Go out with me?" Scott repeated.  
  
"Go where?" she asked almost stupidly.  
  
"Anywhere you want. Dinner, the amusement park, maybe a movie..."  
  
"You mean on a date?" she asked.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Jean paused unsure of what to say. On one hand, she knew that Scott was serious about asking her out, his nervousness something she'd have been able to sense even without her telepathic abilities. Not only that, but if she was being completely honest with her self, she did have the smallest crush on Scott. On the other hand, she was afraid to say, 'yes'. She was unsure of how it would affect their friendship, something that she held as almost sacred.  
  
"Scott, I... I don't know what to say..." she stammered.  
  
"Do you trust me?" he asked her.  
  
"Yes; of course."  
  
"Then say, 'yes, you'll go out with me'," he told her, his strongly projected thoughts literally begging him to accept.  
  
After what seemed to Scott to be an eternity, she finally said, "I can't Scott. I'm sorry."  
  
Then, looking away, trying to ignore the intense feelings of dejection combined with confusion coming from her friend, she turned and slowly began the long trek back to the house.

* * *

Feedback, as always is loved and appreciated. 


	10. Bedroom Discussions

Bedroom discussions  


"So much for your theory," Scott said dully to Hank, as he walked into the room they shared, later that night.  
  
"Which theory would that be?"  
  
"The one about my asking Jean out."  
  
"I take it she refused your proposal?" Hank asked.  
  
"Right in one," Scott answered morosely, flopping down onto his bed.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"Yeah, well, that's what she said."  
  
"Why do you think she refused?"  
  
"How the hell should I know, Hank?"  
  
"You should have asked."  
  
"No offence, man; but spare me your advice. It didn't work, and she probably hates me now."  
  
"Jean dislikes many things, Scott; but I highly doubt you'll ever be among them," Hank said calmly, in response to Scott's melodramatic behavior. "You two go back way too far. She's just confused. Give her some time."  
  
"And you're right about this, because?"  
  
"Just because I'm blue, furry, and enjoy spending my time in a chemistry laboratory, doesn't mean I don't notice things, Scott," Hank replied, summing up a short description of himself in just a few words. "Apologize, and then back down. She'll come around in time."  
  
"Well, I'm either have to do that, or run away to Mexico to avoid looking at Jean," Scott said sardonically.  
  
"I'd suggest my way; there's more to be gained by staying here, than in Mexico. Now if you'll excuse me, I need my beauty sleep," Hank said, turning over in his bed, and closing his eyes, leaving Scott to meditate over what had just passed.

* * *

"Jean."  
  
"Go away," she mumbled in her sleep.  
  
"Jean, wake up... Please?" Scott pleaded with his friend.  
  
"What?" she protested, finally opening her eyes.  
  
"Scott, it's five in the morning," she whined, after turning over to squint at the glowing digits of her alarm clock.  
  
"I know. I'm sorry, but you were levitating in your sleep, and I thought it would be safer if I just woke you up," he said, referring to one of the problems she'd frequently had since her telekinetic powers had manifested.  
  
"And you knew that, sleeping all the way in your room?" She asked, rolling her eyes.  
  
"No. That's just my excuse for waking you up. I want to talk."  
  
"Can't it wait till later?"  
  
"It's important."  
  
With a sigh, Jean sat up in bed, and crossed her legs, "Okay, tell me."  
  
Scott paused for a second, then said, "Jean, I'm sorry about earlier. Please don't be mad."  
  
"I'm not mad," she said, sighing again. "Just confused. Why'd you do it?"  
  
"I'm sorry," he repeated. Then continued, "I don't know. Maybe it was just watching Warren continuously go on dates, or Bobby's saying you were flirting with me, and Hank said it was a good idea...."  
  
"So everyone was in this but me?" She asked.  
  
"No; Hank knew I loved you, but that's it.  
  
Jean was silent for a moment.  
  
"You said 'love'," she said finally.  
  
"I know," he answered quietly.  
  
Jean looked back at her best friend, not for the first time in the last twenty-four hours, completely unsure of what to say to him. "Can I see something?" she asked him finally.  
  
"Anything."  
  
"It's in your mind."  
  
He shrugged. "That's okay. As of about three minutes ago, you know everything that's in there."  
  
Smiling a little at his answer, Jean put one hand up on either side of his head, and taking a deep breath, closed her eyes, and entered into that deep, dark, complex labyrinth that was his mind, searching until she finally found what she was looking for. --That section which was connected to her.  
  
Suddenly, she felt an overwhelming rush of feelings of love, friendship, understanding, admiration....  
  
"Ahhh!" she cried out suddenly, dropping her hands limply to her sides, and opening her eyes.  
  
"What happened?" Scott asked her bewildered. Then putting his hand up to his forehead, he added, "What did you do in here Redd, it feels really strange?" he said, using his nickname for her.  
  
"Oh God," Jean breathed heavily, scared at what she might have just done. "Oh no. Please God, no," she moaned, virtually praying. "Okay, Scott, tell me what I'm thinking of."  
  
"What?" he asked.  
  
"Just do it!" she exclaimed.  
  
"Okay. Uh, you're thinking that you've created a link. The professor is going to be angry, and I'm going to kill you," he said, sprouting the first thoughts that came to his mind.  
  
She groaned again. "Oh God. Scott, I am so, incredibly sorry. I didn't mean to go that far."  
  
"What did you do?" he asked her, getting more confused by the minute at her terrified behavior.  
  
"The Professor told me something like this could happen. If I go too far into a person's feelings, and memories of what they have for me, my mind may link with theirs," she explained.  
  
"So, we're linked?"  
  
"Yeah. It's like, I can send you telepathic messages whenever I want, and vice versa, I guess. I've never had a mind link before, I don't know how to break it. I'm sorry," she said again, apologizing profusely.  
  
"It's okay. I don't mind it," he said soothingly, trying to calm her down.  
  
"How can you not? I can see everything you're thinking!"  
  
"Jean, you just took a walk through my mind. You already know what I was thinking anyway," he reasoned with her.  
  
"Professor Xavier is going to be so angry," she said, a little calmer now.  
  
"So? We wont tell him."  
  
"He's the most powerful telepath on the planet, Scott. He probably already knows."  
  
"I'll tell him it's my fault then, okay? That you warned me that this might happen, and I said to go ahead anyway."  
  
"Yeah sure. Like he'd believe that," she said, getting out of bed, and slipping on her dressing gown, walked towards her balcony.  
  
"Where are you going?"  
  
"Guess," she said dryly.  
  
"To see the sunset," he said, after thinking for a moment. "This is cool."  
  
"Cool?" she asked incredulously.  
  
"Yeah, I like it. You can stop apologizing now," he added, sensing another 'I'm so sorry,' coming his way.  
  
"But I am," she protested, stepping out to see the sun, the brightest star there is, beginning its ascent into the sky.  
  
"Want to make it up to me?" he asked hesitatingly.  
  
She nodded, and taking a deep breath, he concentrated on a thought, hoping it would reach her. Just give me one chance. One date. If you don't like it, we'll forget it ever happened. I promise. Please, Jean.  
  
She didn't answer him directly, but stared out at the pink sky for a few moments before sending back, Fine; we'll go for a movie, but then we're even  
  
Dinner.  
  
Okay dinner, but that's it.  
  
Saturday? he pressed on.  
  
She nodded in response.  
  
Great. Bye, Redd. he said.  
  
Stepping out of Jean's room, he softly closed the door behind him, before breathing a sigh of relief. He grinned as a thought suddenly struck him. He was going on a date with Jean Grey.  
  
"Yes!" he said to himself, unable to contain his excitement completely.  
  
I heard that, a voice said at the back of his mind.  
  
Still grinning, Scott made his way down the hall, and went into his room. He had a date with Jean Grey.

* * *

Feedback, is, as always loved and appreciated. 


	11. Starry, Starry Night

Starry, Starry Night

The rest of the week passed by without much event, and before Jean knew it, Saturday had already come.  
  
"So, Scottie," Bobby said to Scott. "I'm thinking, you, me, Hank, Warren, pizza, and a night of Star Wars. Whaddya say?"  
  
"I say, 'It sounds great, but I already have plans.'"  
  
"Strange...," the younger boy said, grinning. "That's exactly what Jean said. Do I see a date in the future?"  
  
"If the future is in the next," looking at his watch, "two hours; yes," Scott replied.  
  
The grin on Bobby's face grew wider. "I knew it! Where are you taking her?"  
  
"It's a surprise."  
  
"For me? Scott, you shouldn't have," Bobby laughed at his secrecy.  
  
"I didn't. Now, if you don't mind, I have to check our dinner details," Scott said, walking away, passing Warren, who was entering the room just as he was leaving it.  
  
Half an hour or so, after talking to Bobby, Warren Worthington, a frown over his handsome face, knocked on Jean's door.  
  
Upon hearing her call out her permission to enter, he pushed it open and stepped inside, to see Jean sitting at her dresser, her semi-dry hair knocked in front of her face, a hairdryer in one hand, and a comb in the other.  
  
"You're going out with Scott on a date," he stated without any preamble.  
  
"Yes," she said, throwing her hair back into place, and beginning to brush it slowly.  
  
"So it's okay to date Scott, but it's not okay to date me?" he asked, the scowl on his face deepening.  
  
Jean paused, and putting down her brush, turned to face him.  
  
"This is different, Warren."  
  
"How so?"  
  
"Scott loves me."  
  
"And I don't?"  
  
Jean shook her head. "No. Not in the same way."  
  
"Well I do," he protested.  
  
"I don't think so."  
  
"Why don't you let me be the judge of that?" he said sharply. Then, in a softer tone, he asked, "Why would you choose him over me?"  
  
"Warren, I'm not choosing anyone over you!" Jean protested. "It's just, going out with Scott is different from going out with you. We'd never work as a couple."  
  
"We would if you bothered trying," he said angrily, his quick temper rising, just as it always did when he was denied something he wanted.  
  
"Warren, I'm under seventeen, you're almost twenty. I've had only two boyfriends in my entire life, both of whom lasted for longer than any relationship you've ever had has. I love reading, you don't read anything beyond the back of the cereal box. We're just too different," she tried to reason with him.  
  
"So what you're trying to say is, just because Scott is sixteen, has no social life and is a bookworm, it's my fault?"  
  
"No; I never said that. I just don't think we'd make a good couple," Jean said exasperatedly, her normally bright green eyes going as cold as marble at his words.  
  
"I do."  
  
"But I don't, and it's not going to happen."  
  
"Why?" he snapped, "because Jean Grey says so?"  
  
"Yes! Damn it, Warren! I decide whom I want to date, not you."  
  
"Like one date with me would kill you!" Warred shouted back angrily.  
  
"I don't want to date you, Warren!" Jean glared, enunciating each syllable. "Besides, you date girls who are way prettier than me all the time, and you know it, so what's the big deal?"  
  
"They don't mean anything to me."  
  
"Then that only makes it worse!" she yelled, now fed up with his comments. "Why don't you just go down, and call up Minksy, or whoever it is you were talking to earlier, instead of irritating me!"  
  
He frowned, "It's Carrie now. Minksy and I broke up, and I don't have a date tonight."  
  
"Well I do; so why don't you go out, and let me get dressed in peace!" Saying this, Jean turned on her heel, and stalked into her bathroom to brush her teeth. When she came out five minutes later, Warren was gone.

* * *

"Relax Scott, you look fine," Hank said to his roommate, who was nervously pacing around their room, pausing every few moments, to catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror. "And you're wearing out the floor," he added, grinning.  
  
"You think I should go now?" Scott asked.  
  
"Well you told her you'll would be leaving at seven, and now it's five past. I think you'd better leave."  
  
"Oh man! I can't believe I'm late!" Scott groaned, pulling open the door, and rushing down the steps, two at a time, but he slowed down as he approached the entrance hall, not wanting to appear too eager to his date. _'His date'_, he thought, smiling to himself.  
  
"Hi," Jean said when she saw him.  
  
"Hey," he answered, then, "You look nice," he said, taking in her plain, white sleeveless top, and black jeans which were a little on the tight side as compared to the ones she was used to wearing, but she had been told they looked good on her, and she, eager to look nice, had worn, not only them, but had also pinned her hair back, using a pair of hairclips which were digging into her head in the most frustrating manner; still, she was determined to look good, or die in the attempt. Smiling her thanks at his compliment, she replied, "You too. I like you're shirt."  
  
"You should; you bought it."  
  
"What can I say? I have good taste," she grinned. "Shall we leave?"  
  
"Oh yeah," he said, reaching for the door, and holding it open for her.  
  
A few minutes later, they were sitting in his car, listening to a soft song from yesteryears, playing on the radio, which neither of them recognized.  
  
"Where are we going?" Jean asked.  
  
"The beach."  
  
"I thought we were going for dinner."  
  
"We are."  
  
"On the beach?"  
  
"Wait and see," he told her.  
  
The conversation continued between them. It was easy, comfortable. Jean caught herself wondering on more occasion than one, why she had ever thought this would be difficult. This was, after all, her best friend, not some random blind date someone had set her up with. There was no need for any formalities or introductions between them, no awkward questions of why she didn't live with her parents, or wondering if her date secretly thought she was boring, and was only making polite conversation until he could drop her home.  
  
Scott pulled his car into the empty parking lot, and got out of the car.  
  
"Can you wait here for a minute?" he asked. "I need to check something."  
  
"Sure," she said obligingly, curious to know where he was going, but in keeping with her childish love of surprises, she didn't want to spoil it by probing his mind.  
  
She had been quite surprised when Professor Xavier had allowed them to retain their link, saying that so long as Scott didn't mind it, it was good practice for her telepathy; though he had also taught her how to sever the link in case she ever felt that his thoughts were getting too much for her to handle.  
  
"Okay, lets go," Scott said, coming back to the car.  
  
"Great," she answered, getting up.  
  
Scott took her hand, and they walked onto the beach in silence, the only sound being the crashes of the waves against the shore.  
  
"Here," Scott said, as they came across an isolated pick-nick table, with two unfolded, upright lawn-chairs on one side. Laid out on the table, was a small platter of Sushi, along with plastic containers of some food she couldn't quite make out.  
  
"That's chicken teriyaki, and that's a vegetable tempura. It's from that take-away Japanese place that you've been wanting to order from, but Bobby's always insisted on pizza. I thought I'd play it safe and get you what I knew you'd like," he said, blushing a little at his last words for a reason he didn't quite know.  
  
"That's so sweet. Thank you, Scott," she aid sitting down on one of the chairs. "Well, this does give a whole new meaning to 'eating out'," she said, eyeing the food as he took the seat next to hers. He laughed at that, and served himself some of the chicken, while she sampled the sushi.  
  
"Hey, look at that!" Jean cried out suddenly, when they were about ten minutes into their dinner, pointing up at the flash of light, which had just crossed the sky.  
  
He smiled widely, pleased that she had seen it. "It's a meteor shower," he explained, "like the one we saw last fall. Cool, huh?"  
  
"Yeah," she agreed, staring intently up at the shooting stars.  
  
"You like?" he asked, looking at her upturned face, illuminated in the dull light of the stars flying by.  
  
"I like," she answered, but even as she said it, she turned to look at the boy sitting beside her, his face lit up by the periodic flashes of light in the sky.  
  
"The, um, food is good," she said hesitantly, suddenly feeling shy and even a little nervous as she looked at his clean-cut profile. He was handsome, she decided. He didn't have Warren's obviously pronounced good features, which used to draw stares and flirtatious looks from approximately every girl who met him, nor did he possess Bobby's sense of humor, nor Hank's superior intelligence, yet he was a perfect blend of all three.  
  
"It's okay," he said. "The company's better," he added a little shyly, without his usual confidence. He often felt strangely nervous around her, at times he could least afford to be, or so he had decided.  
  
"There's the Centaur!" Jean exclaimed suddenly, interrupting his thoughts.  
  
"Centaur?" he asked, turning his eyes away from her, and looking down the wide stretch of sand in front of them, almost as if he expected to see the mythical, half man, half horse, galloping towards them, down the beach.  
  
"Not here, in the sky," she said, reaching over to give him a light push, and pointing up, to a cluster of stars. "Don't you see it?"  
  
"Not really," he said, squinting at the stars. "When did you start learning about constellations?" he asked, still staring up at the sky.  
  
"It was in the book you gave me last Christmas."  
  
"You read it?"  
  
"Well... yeah. I figured that was what it was for," she said, amused at his earlier response. "Or was I just supposed to use it to decorate my bookshelf?"  
  
"No. It was just... I mean...," he stammered nervously.  
  
_'Chill Scott. I was kidding_,_'_ she sent to him.  
  
_'It's easy to talk like this_,_' _he sent back after a moment of silence.  
  
_'I know,' _she replied. _'Professor Xavier and I do it all the time.'_   
  
"Do you want to leave?" he asked her reluctantly an hour later, when he saw her yawn for the second time that night.  
  
"Yeah. I'm really tired, and I have an early morning telepathy practice session with the Professor."  
  
She helped him pack up the now empty food containers and the foldable furniture, and load it into the trunk of his car. He drove them back to the institute in silence, often glancing into his rearview mirror, in which nothing of the road could really be seen, it being focused on his date, who was drowsily staring out of the window. A slow song was playing on the radio, and Scott was singing along to it, so softly, that she wouldn't have even been aware of it, if her link hadn't told her that he was.  
  
I like your voice, the thought came to his mind.  
  
He was pleased at her praise, though if he was being perfectly honest, he had already known that his voice was good, he being naturally musical. With the Professor's encouragement, he had even begun taking guitar classes, and with true talent had picked up the notes with such dexterity, that he had been able to stert playing his own songs. He played by ear, and to a professionally trained ear, he was good, to an untrained ear, such as hers, he was even better.  
  
_'Vain creature,'_ she said, amused at his own self-confidence at his singing prowess.  
  
He smiled back at her in an almost angelic manner. _'My very own angel,'_ she thought sleepily, before shaking her head as if to clear her mind._ 'Yeah right,'_ she thought, _'an angel with red shades and a goofy smile.'  
_  
"What's so funny?" he asked, looking over at her entertained smile.  
  
"You. Me. Us," she replied, as he pulled the car into the garage.  
  
"We're funny?"  
  
"Well maybe it's just you," she said, getting out of the car, and walking to the back, grabbed one of the black, plastic garbage bags in her hand, and began levitating one of the folded chairs and the table out of the car, and moving them towards the house in front of them.  
  
"Where did you get these?" she asked, nodding at the table suspended in mid- air.  
  
"I found them in the boathouse. We can leave them in the hall, and I'll take them back in the morning."  
  
"We can do it now."  
  
"No, it's okay. I'll manage by myself. You need to sleep."  
  
"You got that right," she said, yawning again.  
  
"Goodnight," she said once they were outside her room.  
  
"Goodnight," he said back. "Jean?" he added as she opened her room door.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Just..., did you have fun tonight?"  
  
"I had a great time, Scott. Thank you."  
  
"So, I guess, as per our deal, I get another date?" he asked with a cocky smile.  
  
Jean didn't have to think about her answer this time. "I guess you do," she said amicably before entering her room, and closing the door.

* * *

Feedback, as always, is appreciated. 


	12. Perfection

Perfection  


"How'd your session with Professor Xavier go?" Scott asked Jean the next day, the moment he managed to get her alone.  
  
"Okay. It would have been better if you hadn't been projecting your dreams right into my head just then."  
  
"Sorry," he said almost automatically. It was a word he had been using a lot lately. Jean rolled her eyes at his apology. "Scott, you don't have to apologize for every stray thought I catch from you. If I can't handle the link, I'll break it. Your thoughts aren't really that disturbing."  
  
"Except when they interrupt your sessions."  
  
"Except when they interrupt my sessions," she agreed; "but I am getting better at filtering them out of my mind when I need to."  
  
"Can I do anything to help?"  
  
"Not really. It's something I have to get by myself," she paused before adding, "thanks for asking, though."  
  
"No problem," he replied, shrugging.  
  
His offer had been no important matter to him, but it meant a lot to her, that he was willing to help.  
  
"It is our link after all, and it is partially my responsibility," he continued.  
  
"How so?"  
  
"Well, if I didn't obsess about you so much, I wouldn't have had so many thoughts about you, that you had to dig through," he said.  
  
"Obsess?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.  
  
He nodded in response.  
  
"It's not your fault, and the links not a bad thing," she protested.  
  
"I never said it was a bad thing, and I said _partially_ my fault; but if you want to take all the blame, then go right ahead-I don't mind. Infact, come to think of it, it probably is entirely your fault."  
  
"How can you say that?" she questioned in mock anger.  
  
"Simple. If you weren't so amazing, I would have been obsessing about some other beautiful redhead. Maybe Nicole Kidman."  
  
A blush spread over her cheeks at his words. _'He thought she was beautiful.'_ She had never thought of herself as particularly pretty. As she had told Warren, she hadn't dated many boys, and in the all-girls school she had attended when she had been younger, she had had to bare the brunt of being at the receiving end of many jokes and much teasing. Despite her high grades, which had enabled her to top her class academically every year, she had never considered herself to be particularly smart. Rejected as a friend by many of her peers, she had taken solace in books, using them as a panacea for her loneliness, and spent much of her time reading, where she could escape into the world of stories.  
  
Her father used to call her his 'beautiful princess,' but then, he was her father, and in every parent's eyes, their child is special. Which was what she had always told herself.  
  
No matter what she had said to Warren, she had been secretly flattered at the attention he had recently begun to shower upon her.  
  
_'He called her amazing,'_ Jean thought, the corners of her mouth turning up in a smile, as his words rang in her ears.  
  
"What?" he asked her.  
  
She opened her mind enough for him to see, through their link, what she had been thinking.  
  
He would have been exasperated at her thoughts, if he hadn't known that her lack of confidence in her looks wasn't an act, nor was she fishing for compliments, but was in earnest about her feelings.  
  
_'You are amazing, Redd, and don't you forget it,'_ he sent to her, causing unexpected tears to well up in her eyes. He reached out, and enveloped her in a tight bear hug.  
  
'Thank you,' she sent back.  
  
_'You don't have to thank me. I only said the truth.'  
_  
_'Then how come you're the only person who's ever thought so?'  
_

_'Everyone always thought so,'_ he told her, _'they were just too jealous of you to admit it.'  
_  
In answer, she just gulped back another sob, but the overwhelming rush of emotional gratitude he felt from her, compensated for her lack of words.  
  
_'I think you're perfect, Jeannie,'_ he sent, _'inside and out.'_  
  
"No one's perfect," she mumbled into his shirt, her voice muffled.  
  
Then you're as perfect as any person's ever going to get," he told her, gently stroking her back.  
  
"You mean any mutant," she said bitterly.  
  
"Than any one," he declared, "mutant or non-mutant."  
  
She smiled into his chest, her tears ceasing.  
  
"I think I'm going to have to take back what I said earlier," she said, looking up into his face, her eyes finding his behind his ruby quartz glasses with ease after years of practice.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because you really are perfect."  
  
He smiled, embarrassed. "Just don't let anyone hear you say that."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"They might think you have a crush on me," he said, smiling wider.  
  
"Would you mind if they did think that?"  
  
"Not if it's the truth."  
  
"Good," she said, a little relieved.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because our resident eavesdropper has been standing outside the door since the past five minutes, watching us, dying to know what we're saying, and cursing because he can't hear a word."  
  
"Bobby?" he guessed.  
  
She nodded. "I could have heard his thoughts a mile away. He's going to be asking you questions till kingdom come."  
  
"I guess we'll just have to avoid him by going out again tonight."  
  
"Two nights in a row? This is getting serious, Mr. Summers."  
  
"Well, if everyone is going to talk, we might as well give them something to talk about."  
  
She smiled at his response. "Where will we go to escape them?"  
  
"Hmm...," he said, as if debating a major decision. "I don't know. How does going for a movie sound?"  
  
"I'd say it sounds like a date," she replied, smiling wider.  
  
"Then it's a date," he agreed.  
  
"A second date," she corrected him.

* * *

Feedback, as always, is loved, adored and appreciated. 


	13. Rhett and Scarlett

Rhett and Scarlett

"So which one will it be?" Scott asked Jean as they stared up at the bored of the multiplex cinema they had driven to, where over half a dozen movies were listed.

"Which one would you like to see?" she asked him, though she had already chosen the one she wanted to watch.

"Anything but one of your bad teen movie chick-flicks, in which the star football player dates the head cheerleader, and finally breaks up with her to go to the prom with the girl whom he thought was a geek, who secretly had a crush on him all along," he answered, all in one breath.

She swatted him lightly on the arm.

"You don't have to be so sarcastic, Summers. You can just say you don't want to watch 'Romy and Michelle's High School Reunion,' in which, by the way, the geeky girls don't go out with the star football players, but one does marry the high school nerd turned millionaire, and the other makes a fool of the egoistic jock at their reunion," she said, looking up at the neon pink letters in which the name of the movie was printed. "Anyway, I want to watch, 'Gone With The Wind'."

"Haven't you seen it already?"

"Yeah; but it's such a classic, I wouldn't mind seeing it again... unless you want to watch something else," she added in a rush.

"No. This movie is fine," he said, as they stood in the queue to buy their tickets.

They entered the movie hall, she with her usual Diet Coke, as if trying to balance the scales in her favor, to make up for the large helping of extra butter popcorn in her hand; he with a similar tub of caramel popcorn, a Coke of the regular variety, and much to her amusement, two packs of chocolate chip cookies.

"Hey, if I'm going to watch a movie which condones slavery and violence, I need chocolate."

"It doesn't condone slavery or violence, Scott," she had protested. "It just shows the civil war from a more romantic aspect."

"How can there be anything romantic about a war?" he had asked in his usual, pragmatic manner.

"I suppose you'd prefer Stephen Crane's views in 'Red Badge of Courage?'"

"At least he doesn't glorify war to the extent Margaret Mitchell does," he said, taking a seat in the mostly empty theater.

She would have said more, but he was saved listening to her defend her choice by the opening credits of the movie.

On the whole, Jean enjoyed watching the movie, even though she'd seen it before. Even Scott was forced to admit it was good-though he did only say it in thoughts, not words.

Jean was surprised to find herself disappointed when Scott didn't put his arm around her shoulders when Rhett kissed Scarlett. He did however take her hand when they left the cinema hall, and didn't let it go until they reached the coffee shop just across the road.

They placed their orders with the twenty-something girl behind the counter, who had unnaturally purple hair, and seemed more interested in painting her nails with some dark color, which Scott couldn't quite make out. Eventually however, after much effort, they placed their orders and sat down at the back of the café. They laughed and talked as they enjoyed their frothy frappuchinos, hers vanilla flavored, his with mocha, and split and oversized slab of cake between them. She insisted on paying, as he had bought the tickets, and though he didn't mind spending whatever money he had on her, he was pleased that she had offered to pay, in defiance of the 'man always picks up the check,' rule which the other few dates he had gone on, only after much persuasion from his friends, had firmly believed in.

They reached back home a little after eleven, and he walked her up to her room once again, to be rewarded with a bright smile and a 'thank you' at the door.

"Good night," she said to him, opening the door.

"Good night," he responded, before putting a hand on her shoulder, as if to stop her from leaving him.

"Uh, Jean?"

She looked back at him.

He paused, unsure of how to ask the question he wanted. "Are we going out?" he asked finally.

"You mean, as a couple?"

"Yeah."

"I'd like that," she said simply.

"Me too."

She smiled and leaned towards him, standing on her toes so that she could reach his cheek, where she gave him a soft kiss.

"Good night, Scott," she said once again, going into her room and shutting the door.

Back in the corridor outside, Scott smiled to himself. The smile didn't leave his face until after he was fast asleep.

* * *

**Feedback is my happy drug. :)**

**Also, I obviously don't own nor have anything to do with the above mentioned movies, books, and authors.**


	14. Talk With An Angel

Talk With An Angel

"Good work, X-Men," came Professor Xavier's voice through the microphone, as his five students began to walk towards the exit of the 'Danger Room', as they had dubbed the underground training center, where they regularly exercised their powers in a kind of high tech obstacle course.

"Especially good work on dodging that last energy blast, Hank. Bobby, might I suggest that in future, when you need help you don't call out to Warren as 'Hey Bird-Boy, fly me out'. He might be more inclined to assist you if you refer to him by his actual name," the Professor added, as Scott exchanged an amused glance with Hank.

'Warren,' Jean thought, as she headed towards the showers. It had been just three days since she and Scott had officially become the school's only 'mutant couple'. Upon hearing that they were dating, Bobby had, in his usual, exuberant manner, begged Jean to name their first son after him, and immediately latched himself on to Scott, telling him what gifts Jean would like him to buy her, most of which, strangely revolved around things Bobby, himself liked; Hank had expressed his sentiments in a milder manner, but had been happy for them, nonetheless, Professor Xavier had simply taken it in his stride, as an occurrence he had expected all along, reminded them that the rules of their curfew were not to be broken, except in special circumstances, and asked them to schedule their dates so that they wouldn't clash with their studying.

Warren, however, had shown no interest in the manner whatsoever. They hadn't spoken much since their last argument, before Jean's first date with Scott, and he had begun to adopt a more formal attitude when speaking to her, though he pretended like their row had never occurred. Towards Scott, he remained inwardly hostile, and outwardly polite. Warren Worthington had been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, so to speak, and being blessed with a handsome face and charming smile, rarely failed in getting what he wanted the first time, and if he did, he never failed to secure it in the second. He was hurt that Jean had refused him, only to date Scott, and his feelings, whenever he came across them together, could have been felt by any telepath within a ten-mile radius.

Emerging from the shower half an hour later, Jean made her way to the kitchen, with the intention of fulfilling her hunger pangs. The phone rang as she passed it, and she stopped to pick it up.

"Hello," she said automatically. "One moment," she said in response to a question asked by the person at the other end, going in search of the boy the call was for. She found him in front of the large television, flipping between a football and a basketball game.

"Warren, it's for you," she said holding out the phone.

"Who is it?" he asked, without moving his eyes from the screen in front.

"Some girl named Candy."

"Could you tell her I'm not home, please?" he requested.

Jean hesitated before putting the phone to her ear. "I'm sorry, but he's just gone out. I'll tell him you called." A moment later she put the phone down.

"She seems nice," she told Warren.

"You've met her. You said you didn't like her," he answered flatly.

"Oh, did I? I don't remember her...," Jean faltered, unsure of what to say.

"Hmmm," he grunted in response.

"Warren, talk to me, please?" she requested him quietly.

"About what?"

"About us."

"I thought you said there was no 'us'."

"As a couple. I still want us to be friends."

"We are friends," he replied, finally averting his gaze from the television, and looking at her.

"Not like we used to be," she said. "We don't talk that much anymore."

His eyes remained fixed on the television screen.

"Or go out together to the mall," she added, naming one of the many activities they had always enjoyed doing together.

"I miss that," he admitted finally.

"I'm sorry for shouting at you that night," she said, swallowing her pride, and being the first to apologise.

"I'm sorry I shouted too," he said.

"I'll forgive you, if you forgive me."

"Sounds like a fair deal."

"Great. What do you say we go to the mall and check out that new ice-cream parlor to celebrate? I'm starving."

"Sounds like a plan," he said, getting up, "I'll go get my car keys."

"Can I drive?" she asked.

"I'll think about it on my way up," he said, his uniquely teasing smirk on his face.

On his way back down the stairs, Warren passed Scott.

"Where are you going?" Scott asked him.

"Out with Jean for some ice-cream."

"Oh."

"Hey, Scott."

"Yeah?"

"If you ever hurt her, I'll kill you."

"If I ever hurt her, your welcome to."

"Good," Warren replied.

They never spoke of Jean as a major topic of discussion between them again.

Warren Worthington was used to getting what he wanted, but he was also a person, who, much like his code name, had an almost angelic side to him. The happiness of his friends was extremely high on his priority list, and if he ever felt for Jean more than he should as a friend, he didn't mention it again.

He was, after all, the angel of the X-Men.

* * *

Feedback is loved, appreciated and begged for.


	15. Pillow Talk

Pillow Talk

Scott slumped back in his bed, tired. His hair was still slightly moist from the shower he had taken earlier, but he was too exhausted to care. Every bone in his body ached, and he wished he, like Bobby and Warren, could close his eyes and find solace in sleep, or go and find comfort among test tubes in the lab as Hank was doing. His body was ready to collapse, but his mind was still wide awake.

_'Jean,'_ he thought reaching out with his mind for the only person he was willing to even think of.

Upon getting no answer, he rolled over in his bed and switched off the light, but before he had even pulled the covers back, a knock sounded at his door, followed by the voice of his girlfriend. "Scott, can I come in?"

"Yeah," he called out, without budging from his position.

She entered the room, and softly closing the door, walked up to where he lay on the bed and sat down next to his spread-eagle form. She slipped her hand into his, and he clutched on to it, as if for his life. After a few moments of silence, she kicked off her slippers and gently lay down next to him on the bed, propping her head up on her free hand.

_'Where's Hank?'_ she asked.

_'Lab.'_

_'Scott, you're not a bad leader,'_ she said, guessing what was on his mind.

_'Then how come we lost?'_

_'We can't win everything. Magneto is a powerful mutant, but even he doesn't always win. Tonight he beat us, it was bound to happen sometime.'_

_'That's not an excuse!'_ he protested angrily.

_'I know that; but beating yourself up about it isn't going to help either. We'll just have to work harder next time; and it's not like this is the first time we didn't entirely succeed.'_

_'Jean, we totally and completely failed,'_ he said flatly. _'I failed you all. I shouldn't have paired us up together.'_

_'So you wont next time. It's okay. Everyone is entitled to make mistakes.'_

_'Not when the mistake could cost you someone's life. I wasn't thinking when I did it; I just didn't want you to go where I wasn't there.'_

_'Why?'_

_'I was afraid you'd get hurt, and by keeping you with me, you almost did. I'm sorry.'_

She sighed before saying, _'I know what you mean. I hate not being able to continuously_ _know whether you're okay or not, but Scott, no one blames you.'_

_'You don't?'_

_'If I did, do you think I'd be here right now, or locked up in my room, angrily sulking? It's okay, we still trust you as a leader.'_ She paused, _'I trust you.'_

He turned to face her in the dark. He couldn't really see her, except for the outline of her form, where she lay close to him. Then, slowly, she reached out, and drew him slowly into a hug, her cheek against his chest. "I just want you to feel better," she whispered, holding him close to her.

They lay like that for sometime, before she finally pulled away, and drew herself up, so that their faces were at the same level. She was so close, that he could almost feel her breathe.

"I can hear your heat beat," she murmured, a slight smile on her face.

Tentatively, he reached out to brush her cheek, suddenly very aware of his heart pounding inside his chest, the ticking of the clock in the room, and the soft rustling of the trees outside.

Then, slowly, she leaned towards him, and kissed him gently on the lips. She drew away almost before his brain had time to register its happening. He could feel her gentle breathing on his cheek, as she brought his face closer to hers, and kissed back, and this time, and this time, the kiss wasn't as gentle or as brief as the previous one. It was a soft, searching kiss, and still a hard, passionate one. It was new, raw, and still so comfortable and easy.

"Wow," he said, when they finally parted.

She blushed, and half smiled, before sending to him, _'Very wow.'_

An hour later, she left, and made her way back to her room, almost bumping into Warren in the hallway, who had gotten up for a glass of water.

"What are you so happy about?" he asked, seeing the bright smile across her face.

"Scott kissed me," she admitted a little shyly.

"So? Was this the first time?"

She nodded.

"What have you guys been doing all this while? I thought he'd have got you to at least second base by now."

"We're not playing baseball!" she protested, but even as she voiced her feeble excuse, she knew what Warren meant. Scott hadn't rushed her into anything. He'd instinctively understood her need to take things at a slower pace, something she valued more than she showed. It wasn't that she was a prude, she just needed to take things at her speed, and kisses, in her opinion, were one of the sweetest things there could be. "I'm not you, Warren. I needed time before I could kiss him," she explained.

"It's not like you didn't know him already."

"I knew him as a friend, not as a boyfriend. Besides, what's the rush? Neither of us are going anywhere," she said simply.

"Goodnight Jeannie," he said, rolling his eyes.

"'night Warr."

* * *

Feedback is loved, appreciated, and thrived upon. 


	16. Green Eyed Monster

Green Eyed Monster

Few people at the Bayville Mall paid special attention to the two teenagers as they walked, hand in hand through the sea of shoppers. They were, to all who saw them, just a pair of friends – maybe even more – shopping together.

This was the way Jean liked to be. Blended in with the multitudes of people who thought she was just like them, not someone 'special', or 'gifted', or any of the other words which Professor Xavier used instead of the dreaded word, 'mutant.'

"So where do you want to go now?" her shopping partner asked her.

"I need new shoes," she said, looking up at her boyfriend.

"I thought that was what you just spent half an hour buying," he answered, holding up one of the bags he was carrying.

"Those were flip-flops. I need to buy a more formal pair for Sarah's engagement party."

"I thought you already had your clothes for that."

"I do. It's the most horrible dress you've ever seen. I can't believe Sarah chose it for me. She's supposed to be my sister!"

"I'm sure you'll look great," he told her, as they made their way down one floor to the shoe store.

"Scott, the dress is blue."

"So?"

"I'm a red-head! Blue just isn't a good color for me. It makes my skin look washed out."

"If you say so," he said, holding the door open for her, knowing from experience that whenever she decided that something didn't suit her, not all the convincing in the world could make her change her mind.

"You don't have to stay here with me if you don't want to," she said, eyeing the shoe racks in front of her. "I'm going to be a while."

"You sure?" he asked her, trying not to seem too eager at a chance to escape from the store. He had never liked buying shoes. Clothes, he could understand, but why anyone needed five different pairs of black shoes was beyond him.

She nodded at him, before beckoning to one of the salesmen. "Yeah; and leave the bags here."

"Rendezvous at the food court in half an hour?"

"Forty-five minutes."

"Okay," he said, leaving the shop.

An hour to the minute later, Scott sat at one of the tables covered with a greasy, plastic, red and white checked tablecloth. He had already been to the music store, browsed through the bookstore, and consumed two chocolate milk shakes, and there was still no sign of Jean. Just as he was considering doubling back to the shop to see if she was still trying to decide which shoe style to buy, he saw her walking towards the food court. The smile on his face upon seeing her approach was wiped off completely and replaced as suddenly as it came, however. Jean had been his best friend for a lot of time, and even without having dated her, he would have been able to tell from a mile away, by the smile on her face, that the boy she was walking with, was flirting with her.

Jean looked away from the boy she was with, to stare over at the rows of faces in front of her, trying to find her boyfriend. Upon catching sight of him, she smiled, and began to walk in his direction, the boy in tow.

"Hey Scott," she said, reaching him. "This is Mark," she added, indicating the handsome teenage boy next to her, who was carrying some of the bags Scott had earlier been holding for Jean. "Mark, this is Scott."

"That's great, Jean," Scott interrupted her introductions. "Can we go now?" he said, trying to ignore the burning feeling of jealousy in his stomach.

Jean looked at him, surprised by his uncharacteristic, outright rudeness. "Fine," she said. "I'll see you later, Mark."

"Bye, Jean. I'll call you about the pictures."

"Okay," she agreed, as he held out his hand to Scott, who barely acknowledged the gesture.

"Lets go," Scott said shortly, picking up the bags Mark had put down, and striding towards the mall's parking lot, Jean, one step behind him.

"What was that?" she asked him a little angrily, once they were in the car.

"What was what?" he asked her flatly in return, without taking his eyes off the steering wheel in front.

"You were totally rude to Mark back there, for absolutely no reason. I know I'm late, and I'm sorry, but I was talking to him and lost track of time."

"I don't mind your being late."

"Then why are you so angry with me?"

"I'm not angry with you."

"Then why wont you unclench your jaw, and answer me properly?"

"I don't like Mark," he finally admitted.

"You don't even know him, Scott."

"You seemed to know him pretty well."

Jean sighed, "I've met him a couple of times at my photography class. He was taking an advanced course. He saw me as I was leaving the shoe store, and offered to help me with the bags."

"He was flirting with you."

Jean sighed again, "No he wasn't."

"Yes he was."

"How would you know? You weren't even there."

"Did he say you looked good?"

"Yeah. So?"

"He was flirting with you," Scott insisted.

"Okay, Scott. Firstly, he wasn't; and secondly, even if he was, I wasn't flirting back."

"Did you tell him I was your boyfriend?"

"No, but..."

"Why not?" he interrupted her.

"Would you just let me finish a sentence for once!" she shouted, frustrated by his behavior. "If you hadn't interrupted when I was introducing you to him, I would have said so."

"You couldn't tell him earlier?" he shouted back at her.

"It never came up!" she informed him icily, "and I don't see why you're so freakin' jealous of nothing!"

"I'm sorry," he apologized, sarcasm dripping from every word. "In the future when great looking, random guys walk up and start talking to my girl friend, I'll just stand by and give them my blessing."

Jean glared at him before shouting, "Do you think I don't get jealous when other girls come up to you, or project exactly what they think of you, or..."

"It's different for me," he interrupted.

"How so?"

"Because I'm in love with you!"

"And I'm not?"

"What?" Scott finally turned in his seat to stare at her.

"I love you," she said, a little softer this time.

Scott could only thank whatever force had made it a red light just then. "Really?" he blurted out, fully aware that it was far from the ideal response, but at the spur of the moment, it was the first word that came to his mind. Though he had decided several times before, what he would say in answer to her very same words, he couldn't recollect any of the suave replies he had carefully planned. He had told her he loved her before, but this was the first time she had said those three words to him.

"I love you," she repeated simply.

"I love you too," he said, reaching over to take her hand, "and I'm sorry."

"Me too," she said. "I wont talk to Mark anymore if you don't want me to."

"That's okay. I trust you."

"I know you do," she said squeezing his hand. "Though there is something you probably should know."

"What's that?"

"Mark's gay."

"Oh."

* * *

Feedback is, as always, greatly appreciated.


	17. Fairy Story

Fairy Story

"Jean," the voice if her elder sister greeted her as she picked up her cell phone.

"Hi Sarah," the red head replied. It was only three days to her sister's extravagant engagement party, which her mother was determined to make the 'engagement of the season', and several last minute preparations had unexpectedly popped up out of nowhere. All of a sudden, there were dresses to be hemmed, flower arrangements to be decided upon, and seating charts to be arranged, which was the reason why the soon to be married, Sarah Grey was calling her younger sister.

"I was wondering whom you'd rather be seated by during dinner at the party?" Sarah asked. "I was thinking of either Robert Madison, or Jake Radinsky."

"Neither of them," Jean answered, before hesitatingly asking, "Would it be okay if I brought along a date?"

Her sister gave an exasperated sigh in response. "Great, a date. That means I'll have to change everything again for the tenth time today. Couldn't you have asked me a little sooner, Jean?"

Jean instantly felt guilty about adding one more complication to her sister's workload. "I'm sorry, Sarah. I'll just sit next to whomsoever you want. Don't worry about it," she said, in an almost submissively resigned tone.

"No. No, it's okay. What's his name? I need it for the place mats."

"Scott; Scott Summers."

Sarah silently digested this information. It was true that she and her sister had never been on the best of terms. She had always resented the attention her parents had showered on her apparently 'ill' sibling, and had even gone through a stage during which she had been afraid of her sister and her mutant powers. Time had, however mellowed out their relationship, and though their multiple differences were far too many to be all smoothened out, they had managed to meet each other halfway at a kind of unspoken understanding, at which they simply tried to accommodate each other's differences, and compromise wherever they could. Despite all their arguments, Jean was still her younger sister, and Sarah felt a natural, protective caution, as to whether her sister's date was an appropriate one for her. "The boy who stays at the Xavier Institute with you?" she asked finally.

"Yes," Jean answered.

"And you'll are dating?"

"Yes," Jean answered again.

"Is it serious?"

"Yeah."

"How serious?" her sister asked, alarm creeping into her voice.

"Not that serious," Jean replied quickly, getting an inkling of what her sister was thinking. "But I do love him."

"And he?"

"He loves me too."

"How can you be so sure?"

"How can you be so sure Paul loves you?" Jean challenged her sister's query with one of her own.

Sarah sighed, recognizing her sister's characteristic defense system of rhetoric. "Okay, but even if you're right, mom wont like it."

"I am right, and I can count the amount of things I'm doing which mom likes on one hand," Jean answered, a trace of bitterness in her voice.

"She's going to want to know who you'll be there with."

"So tell her."

"You sure about telling her? She's not in the best of moods these days."

"She's going to find out eventually, and I'd rather her just knowing, than having to spend an evening with Robert, who can talk of nothing but the price of his latest car, or Jake, who thinks he's God's gift to womankind."

Sarah grinned at her sister's apt descriptions of the two boys she'd offered to seat next to her. "Don't worry about mom, I'll tell her not to make a scene at my party, and I'll tell dad as well. I have to call the caterers now. Bye, Jean."

"Thanks, Sarah. Bye," Jean said, a little relieved. Her elder sister had a way of convincing her mother of almost anything.

"Take care."

""You too."

* * *

"So, you'll come with me, right?" Jean asked Scott later that day.

"Sure."

"You'll need a suit."

"I have one."

"And a tie which doesn't clash with my dress."

"You can look through all of mine, and if you don't like any, I'll borrow one of Warren's."

"Do you have cuff-links?"

He nodded, "Professor Xavier gave me a pair."

"Are your shoes polished?"

He rolled his eyes. "They'll be spic and span on D-day. Any other instructions your majesty, or am I dismissed?"

She smiled at his comment. "Just one more."

"What's that?"

"Shut up and kiss me."

He obediently obliged.

* * *

"We should leave now, Scott," Jean said two days later to her boyfriend, who was lugging their suitcases down the stairs.

"What have you packed in here? Bricks?" he grumbled.

"Yeah, and a couple of bags of cement to go with them," she said answered with a poker straight expression on her face, but telekinetically lifted up the suitcases and levitated them to the garage, and into the trunk of the car.

"It's going to be a long ride. I can drive halfway if you want," she offered.

"Okay," he agreed, tossing a single car key to her. She caught the key, and looked at it, bemused. Scott was the only person she knew who had a separate key ring for each of his keys, and still managed never to lose any of them. She on the other hand, routinely lost, at least one important item a week.

Getting into the driver's seat, she pulled the car out of the driveway, and onto the long road from Westchester to Annandale on Hudson, Jean's hometown when they were halfway there, Jean handed over the keys, and surrendered her place behind the steering wheel to Scott, who drove them for the remainder of the way, Jean, giving directions as they reached Annandale.

"Straight ahead," she said, pointing towards a large, colonial style house.

"It's... big," Scott said in awe. It was true he lived in a mansion, but it wasn't as if it was his, no matter how much the Professor insisted that whatever he had, was Scott's.

Jean shrugged, "Yeah, but a lot of my family's flown in for the weekend, so you might have to share a room with one of my cousins, or something, though."

"That's okay. Where should I park?"

"Go round the back. There's usually a free space there."

A few minutes later, they stood at the threshold of the house. Scott reached over to grab hold of Jean's hand as she rang the doorbell.

_'Relax,'_ she sent to him, over their link.

_'Your parents are going to hate me.'_

_'No way. You're too lovable.'_

Before he could answer, the door swung open, to reveal a casually, but elegantly dresses woman.

"Jean," she said, greeting her daughter with a brief kiss on the cheek.

"Hi mom," she said in response. "This is Scott," she said, looking to her left, where her tall boyfriend stood beside her.

"Hi, Mrs. Grey," Scott said, dropping Jean's hand, and extending his own towards Elaine Grey, who grasped it briefly for a second, before letting go.

"Nice to meet you, Scott," she said shortly. "Why don't you'll come in and freshen up before joining us for dinner?"

"Okay, mom."

"Scott, I'm afraid you'll have to share a room. I'm sorry about the shortage of space, but Jean didn't tell us you were coming until the last minute."

"It's fine. Thanks for having me."

"Jean asked. I couldn't refuse," she said, turning her back towards the teenage couple. "Excuse me, I have to check on my soufflé."

Jean sighed at her mother's retreating figure.

_'She hates me,'_ Scott thought.

_'I still love you.'_

_'Think it'll rub off on your mother?'_

_'I hate to be the pessimist over here, but not on this visit, it wont,'_ Jean said through their link, before saying aloud, "Come on, I'll show you to your room."

"Can't you T.K. the bags up?" he asked her mournfully, looking at her heavy suitcase.

She shook her head in reply. "Can't. No major power use in the house, since I broke my great grandmother's glass vase while trying to telekinetically arrange flowers in it."

He smiled at that.

Twenty minutes or so later, after visiting their respective rooms, Jean ushered Scott down to the spacious dining room, embracing, and being embraced by one and all, but even in their outwardly fond greetings, the slightly uncomfortable pause which came up whenever anyone asked Jean about her schooling, or if she was having any problems, was obvious.

"Daddy," Jean said in excitement, upon finally coming across a tall man, his hair having a reddish tinge to it, which almost matched Jean's.

"Hey Princess," her father greeted her, enveloping Jean in a tight bear hug. "I missed you, sweetheart."

"I missed you too," she replied, clinging to him with affection, which was clear for all to see. "This is Scott," she said, finally untangling herself from her father's tight hug to introduce her boyfriend.

"Hello, Scott. I'm pleased to meet you," John Grey said with a little more warmth than his wife had, as he shook Scott's outstretched hand.

"Great to meet you, Sir," Scott answered, the nervousness apparent in his voice.

"Why don't you get rid off the sunglasses, and we'll go sit down for dinner?" he asked Scott.

"Uh... I... I can't see without them... I can't exactly control it...," Scott began to stammer, blushing to a color which matched his eyewear perfectly.

"Daddy, he can't take them off," Jean explained in a low tone, coming to his rescue. "They're the only things that can control his powers."

"Oh," John Grey said awkwardly. There was a pregnant pause before he said, "Well, why don't we go sit down?" and walked towards the table, Jean and Scott following him.

_'This is not going well,'_ Scott said as he took his seat beside Jean.

_'It's okay. It's not your fault.'_

_'Would it be too rude if I went to sleep straight after dinner?'_

_'Over here?'_ she asked, feigning shock. _'Well I might have a tough time carrying you up the stairs, but I'm sure I can get someone to help me.'_

He glared at her from behind his glasses._ 'Jean...'_

_'Wow, you're in a bad mood,' she said. 'No it'll be okay. I don't think anyone will notice you're gone, and it'll be a late night tomorrow, anyway. I'll probably go to bed soon after dinner as well,'_ she added, as she passed him a platter of paper thin pancakes, each filled with a mixture of vegetables and melted cheese.

_'Thanks,'_ he said, as he helped himself to a crepe.

She nodded in response, taking a small sip of her glass of red wine. Scott had been surprised at the freeness with which the wine had been served to all the guests, including some of Jean's, even younger cousins. _'I didn't know you drunk wine.'_

_'I only do sometimes, when I'm with my family on a special occasion,'_ she said, a guilty look crossing her face, which was reminiscent of a child's, who was caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

He rolled his eyes at her expression. _'I'm not accusing you, I'm just saying I didn't know you liked wine.'_

_'I know.'_

Two hours later, after having eaten their dessert of chocolate mousse and a masterpiece of a pudding garnished with sugared roses, which was a true credit to Jean's mother's culinary expertise, the two teenagers made their way up to their rooms.

Outside of Jean's door they paused for a moment, before he asked her, a little curious, if he could see what her room looked like. Jean's room was a part of her life he was not privy to, and he was naturally curious to know what parts of her childhood yet remained there.

They entered the room, and she switched on the light. He stared about him. Unlike her room at the Institute, Jean's room here was one, which could have passed for a model straight from a Laura Ashley catalogue. The pink and white curtains were only a shade darker than the pale pink walls, which matched the ruffled, frilled, lacy, baby pink bedspread, on which half a dozen stuffed animals were seated in sharp contrast to the solitary teddy bear, which adorned Jean's bed at the school.

"It's very... different," he said finally.

"Yeah. It's kind of stopped in time. It's like, I grew up and left, but my room stayed the same," Jean said, as she walked up to a wooden, ornately carved nightstand, and picked up a photograph for him to see. "That's Annie and I."

He studied the picture of two young girls standing together, their arms tightly wrapped around each other. "You both look pretty close," he said, stating the obvious.

"We were."

"Do you still miss her?"

"A little," she said softly. I remember more of her when I'm here than at the Institute. I still talk to her parents, though."

"You do?" he asked, surprised at this piece of information.

"Yeah. I'll introduce you to them tomorrow. They always said that since I used to spend so much time at their house when Annie was alive, that I was kind of their second daughter. They were the first non-family, non-mutant people I met when I came out of my coma," she paused. Then taking the photograph from Scott, she placed it back on the table, and continued, "I used to go over to their house a lot after that. They liked to have me, and I liked to be there. Her mom used to bake me chocolate brownies, and let me eat them without telling me every second to make sure I didn't drop crumbs on the carpet, or that they'd ruin my teeth," she smiled a little sadly. "They never even minded when I used to lose control and send their cushions and crockery flying in all directions."

"You must have spent a hell of a lot of time over there."

"I did. Once I actually ran away from home, and went and hid in their garden shed."

"What happened?" he asked. Jean's childhood antics always amused him.

"Mr. Richardson found me. He promised not to tell my parents where I was if I agreed to come in and have dinner with them."

"Did you?"

Jean nodded. "Yes, but after a few hours, and a lot of persuading, they finally convinced me to call my parents."

He laughed at that, and sat down beside her on the ruffled bedspread, and pulling her towards him, kissed her gently on the top of her head, before making his way down her forehead, over the bridge of her nose, to finally meet her lips.

_'Love you,'_ she sent to him, as she kissed him back.

_'Love you more,'_ he sent back.

_'Impossible.'_

_'Anything's possible,'_ he said, grinning against her lips.

He left her room about twenty minutes later, only after she had pushed him out, insisting that she needed to sleep.

"See, I do love you more. I'd never push you away," he protested as he walked out of the room.

_'You're a jerk,'_ she sent to him as he made his way to his room.

_'And you love me anyway. Doesn't say very much about you.'_

_'Can't help it. I find stupidity attractive.'_

_'Oh so that's why you spend so much time looking at yourself in the mirror,'_ he replied without missing a beat.

_'Idiot,'_ she said affectionately.

_'Good night, Redd.'_

_'Good night, Summers.'_

Jean sighed as she surveyed herself in the mirror for the tenth time in the past five minutes. It was the night of Sarah's engagement party, for which her parents had literally, pulled out all the stops, from the renting of the sprawling grounds, to the sprays of roses and orchids, right up to the sheer white, translucent muslin tents that had been set up. The only damper on the evening, according to Jean, was the fact that her dress, which even she was forced to admit, fit her perfectly, was blue.

"Jean, can I come in?" Scott asked from the other side of her door.

"Yeah, sure," she said, telekinetically flicking open the lock, without taking her eyes off her reflection.

"Whoa," he said, entering and looking at her.

"That bad, huh?" she asked.

"Jean, are you kidding me? If this is what you look like in blue, you should wrap yourself up in blue prints," he said, leaving out the fact that blue was just another shade of red to him, as he took in her ensemble, from the elegant twist in her hair, to her sapphire earrings, to the scrunched up top of her pale, icy blue dress, with its streamlined skirt, right up to her silver and blue shoes.

She blushed, but took his hand and walked down the stairs with him to meet her parents, who were already waiting for her at the door.

_'Do I look okay?'_ he asked her as they got into the car.

She nodded approvingly, _'You look cute.'_

_'Seriously, Jean.'_

_'What makes you think I'm not serious? You look great, Scott.'_

_'So do you,'_ he said.

_'You said that already, and we've reached,'_ she told him, as her father, who was driving, pulled their Mercedes to a stop, a stop and handed the keys over to a valet.

The four of them entered the large area, Jean and Scott walking two steps behind Jean's parents, who were hurrying inside to see if Sarah and her fiancé, Paul, had arrived yet.

"Mom, dad, I love this. Thank you so much!" Sarah's excited voice greeted them as they walked in.

"Hi Sarah, Paul," Jean said to her sister, who, along with her soon to be husband, were smiling from ear to ear.

"Sarah, someone's arrived. I think we'd better go meet them," Paul interrupted Sarah's raptures, as the first guests of the evening drove up in a large BMW.

"Does everyone in this town have really big cars, or am I just imagining it?" Scott asked Jean, as two more cars pulled up, one being a stretch Limousine.

Jean laughed in response. "Yeah, most of my parent's friends do have pretty big cars. It's a kind of status symbol for them. Some of them even buy their kids cars before they can drive. It's crazy!"

"You don't have a car yet," he pointed out.

She shrugged. "I drive the Porsche when I'm here, and I have you to chauffeur me around when we're at Westchester, so I've got it made."

Darkness had fallen, and the party was a fantastic success. Champagne flowed freely, and the engaged couple was the primary center of attraction for the evening. "It's nice," Scott confessed to Jean about halfway through the evening. "Better than I thought it would be."

"Are you talking about the evening on the whole, or the canapés?" she teased him, as he unabashedly took yet another one from a passing waiter.

"Neither. I was talking about you," he baited her in return.

"Oh, so now I'm an 'it'?"

He nodded, "Yeah, you're my love slave, and have to carry out my every bidding."

"Or what? You'll beat me up?"

"No; but I might have to kiss you to death."

"Is that a threat or a promise?"

He put an arm around her shoulder and steered her to their table, where the food was about to be served. Then, sitting down next to her, he answered by giving her a light kiss on her cheek, before the rest of the people at their table joined them.

"Look up," he told her as she cut into a piece of salmon. She complied. Through the sheer pavilions above their heads, she could just make out hundreds of littler flashes of light, slightly distorted through the translucent material, which only added to their picturesqueness.

She looked back at him, to see his smiling face watching her amazed expression. "I love stars," she confessed.

"I know. You always have them with you when you're happy."

"Where?" she asked, confused.

"In your eyes. They always sparkle when you're happy. Like stars do," he replied, aware that it sounded more like a cheap come-on line, than a compliment.

Before she could say anything in return, Paul's brother stood up to make a toast, and by protocol, she had to stay silent and listen. Mindful of her manners on how it was rude to speak when someone is trying to make a speech, she kept her mind closed to telepathically speaking, but reached under the table, and squeezed his hand. He absentmindedly ran his thumb back and forth over her wrist, and try as she might, her concentration level wasn't very high.

_'I love you so much,'_ she sent to him the second the speech was over.

_'I know. I love you more, remember?'_

_'I don't think that's possible. There isn't enough love in the world left for that.'_

He smiled at her earnest expression, before leaning over to kiss her gently on the lips, eliciting a few giggles from two of Jean's younger cousins at the next table.

"Jeannie and Scott, sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g...," one of them began to chant softly. Jean reached over to good-naturedly tweak the girl's ponytail, and glare in mock anger at the other girl, before saying, "Good girls don't spy on their older cousins."

"I wont tell mommy," the younger of the two girls promised solemnly.

"Good," Jean said, "Or else I'd be locked up in a tower forever, and to see me, you'd have to climb up my hair."

"Like Rapunzel?"

"Yeah."

_'Rapunzel?'_ Scott asked her.

_'Yeah, we play Fairy Tale games together. I'm normally the wicked witch, or the evil step mother.'_

_'Oh?'_

_'You'd have to play the handsome prince though, and he never ends up with the villain.'_

_'I guess we'll have to change the ending, then. What kind of getaway car should I drive?'_

_'We could steal Warren's Jag,'_ she suggested.

_'I agreed to be your accomplice in crime, not commit suicide. Warren's first priority is that car!'_

_'Fine, then we'll take the Professor's car.'_

_'Too slow; we'll take Warren's.'_

_'And if he catches us?'_

_'Who cares? Nothing bad can happen. We have to end happily ever after, right?'_

Jean nodded in agreement. _'Till the end of our days.'_

* * *

Feedback is, as always, appreciated, loved and worshipped. 


	18. Old Love

Old Love

He smiled to see the name that had shown up on his friends list.

**Cyke22:** _Hey Babe._

A moment later his answer arrived.

**Psyche18:** _Hey Scott._

**Cyke22:** _What are you up to?_

**Psyche18:** _Nothing terribly interesting. Just some last minute packing. What are you doing online at this hour? Aren't you tired?_

**Cyke22:** _I'm exhausted, but I thought you'd be here_.

**Psyche18:** _You got online after your long flight just to say 'hi' to me? Scott, I'm flattered._

**Cyke22:** _You should be. I wouldn't deprive myself of sleep for just anyone, you know._

**Psyche18:** _lol! Go to sleep, Summers. I'll see you tomorrow afternoon._

**Cyke22:** _You don't want to talk to me? :-(_

**Psyche18:**_ I want to finish getting my things in order so I can reach you ASAP._

**Cyke22:** _Leave the stuff and come now._

**Psyche18:** _And leave my desk scattered with reams of notes, which took me hours to write? No thank you._

**Cyke22:** _So when it comes down to it, pieces of paper are ultimately more important than I am?_

She shook her head at the computer screen in front of her.

**Psyche18:** _Good night. I love you._

**Cyke22:** _Love you more._

**Psyche18:** _When will you give up that ridiculous argument?_

**! Message could not be sent. Cyke22 has logged off.**

Jean sighed and went back to organizing the various sheets of paper scattered about her room. She missed Scott a lot; often more than she was willing to admit. They were less than a term into their college life and this was the first time since they'd met, that they had been separated for so long. It was true that he called her often enough, and she e-mailed him regularly, but after having had him as her constant companion for so many years of her life, a daily phone call or regular e-mail seemed too few and far between.

She knew she shouldn't complain. It had, after all, been her idea that they go to separate colleges. "We want to study different things, Scott," she had insisted. "I don't want either of us to give up on our dreams and follow the other to a college where we might get stuck doing a course we don't want to. I know you'd resent that, and so would I, and I don't want to be the cause of that." He hadn't been able to argue with her logic, and as a result, they had begun their first term as college students away from each other.

Scott went into his room, and switching off the lights, he got into bed. He missed Jean more than he had thought he would. She had wanted to go to different colleges, and he, unable to disagree with the points she had put forward, had reluctantly agreed that it was the best decision for both of them; but sometimes he wondered if what was best for them was what he really wanted.

He hated being away from her. Being so many miles away from her smile, her laugh, her constant barging into his room-now separate from Hank's, her 'feminist' arguments, her smell, her kisses-everything. He missed her, and he wanted her.

* * *

He opened the door the next day even before she had rung the bell, having seen her car drive up from one of the windows. Wordlessly he wrapped his arms around her and she put hers around him, as through their link they felt each other's feelings, which words alone could not do justice to.

"I missed you so much," he said finally, loosening his grip on her.

"I missed you so much I actually woke up my roommate one night, by calling out your name in my sleep," she responded, grinning.

"You're kidding."

"Nope, and I don't remember what I was dreaming of either; but don't flatter yourself about it," she added, seeing the grin that had spread across his face. "I also said 'no' a couple of times apparently, so you were probably just doing something stupid."

"Well that can only mean one thing."

"What's that?"

"That you missed my stupidity," he told her. "Just think how crazy that makes you," he said, kissing her long and hard.

When they pulled away she asked, "Will you take my bags up to my room, please? I want to see the Professor."

"Sure," he said, grabbing hold of one of the bags, while she went indoors in search of her teacher. She found him sitting in the library.

"Hello Jean," he greeted her. "I thought I heard you come in."

She bent down and hugged the man who had taught and given her so much.

"How's college?" he asked his first student, after she had seated herself in one of her favorite positions, her legs crossed beneath her on an armchair.

"It's good. The classes are great. I'm thinking of majoring in genetics. My professor is truly amazing; he could probably sell ice-cream to an Eskimo. He's got me completely hooked on to his classes."

"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself."

"I am. If I could just wrap up a bit of you, Scott, and everything else I leave behind when I go there, I think it would be perfect."

He smiled at her desire to take her past with her wherever she went, but chose not to dissuade her from retaining the close ties she had at home. Jean carried a lot of emotional baggage around with her wherever she went. Strangely enough, it was this characteristic of hers, which instead of weighing her down, gave her telepathic powers the ability to soar.

After an hour of talking to her, he dismissed her with a "I know you're dying to catch up with Scott. Why don't you'll go out? I can always talk to you later."

She found him reading in the living room. It didn't take much effort on her part to convince him to go out for dinner, and after visiting a local pizza place, they bought themselves ice-cream cones, and ate them while walking slowly around the block under the twinkling stars which were the only constant witnesses to the animated conversation carried on by the young couple.

They arrived back at the Institute by ten thirty, and sat together in her room, talking about every conceivable thought on their minds from their classes, to their new friends, to their views on America carrying out war with Iraq. No stone was left unturned, no topic uncovered.

"Do you think it's possible to love just one person forever?" she asked him finally.

"If you're fortunate enough to find that person before you meet anyone else, yes."

"Do you think we're right for each other?"

Scott looked back at the girl whom he'd loved since before he had been sixteen.

"Yes," he said simply.

"So do I," she admitted.

After a moment of silence, "Scott?" she asked hesitatingly.

"Yeah?"

"Do you ever... I mean, do you want to...," unsure of how to put her thoughts into words, her voice trailed off. He looked at her expectantly. She gave up trying to voce her thoughts, and put their link into use.

_'Do you ever want to go further than we have?'_ she asked, deciding that a straightforward approach was easier than having to put her thoughts any other way.

_'Yes,'_ he admitted silently, _'but not until you want to. I don't want there to be any regrets on either side.'_

"I wouldn't have any regrets," she said softly, finding her voice again. "Would you?"

"No," he answered.

"Do you want to?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied, having taken to answering her in monosyllables.

"Now?"

"We can't. I mean, we don't have any... protection."

"I've been on the pill for sometime," was her only response, as she slowly began to unbutton her shirt. When she reached the last button, she slipped it off and let it fall to the floor at the side of her bed, where she sat. "You're turn," she said simply.

Scott took off his shirt and cast it aside. He would have taken off his shoes instead, but he didn't think it fair, Jean's sandals being off her feet from the beginning.

Very aware of the newfound power she had over him, Jean stood up as if in slow motion, and unzipped her skirt, letting it fall in a pool around her legs, before looking expectantly at Scott. "You're turn again."

Her watched her. Long legs leading up to perfectly curved hips, silky soft skin, just an arms breadth away. Piercing green eyes expectantly fixed on his face, light pink lips slightly parted, almost as if in a trance. Her slender arms crossed around her stomach, as she stood, slightly shy under his penetrating gaze.

Nervous, he pulled off his jeans. She looked at him for a moment, before a small giggle escaped her throat.

"What did I do?" he asked, a little worried.

"Nothing too bad," she answered, amused, her giggle having broken the façade of formality between them. She looked down pointedly at his boxer shorts, before sending, _'It's just nice to know I can have that effect on you simply by taking my skirt off.'_

He blushed, but didn't reply, and she, taking a tentative step towards him, kissed him slowly, taking her time.

_'No regrets?_' he asked.

_'No regrets,'_ she answered.

He didn't leave her room till much later the next morning.

* * *

Feedback is, as always, loved and appreciated. 


	19. Wish Come True Tonight

Wish Come True Tonight

It had been a tiring day, and though it was only eight thirty, twenty-four year old Jean Grey was already curled up on 'her' side of the double bed, in the room she shared with her boyfriend.

"Hey beautiful," Scott Summers said, walking into the room.

"Mmhhmmm?" she asked without looking up book she was engrossed in.

He sat near her on the bed, and leaned over to kiss her temple, asking, "Rough Day?"

Closing her book, she put it down. "I had to help Hank with three of his experiments in the lab, one of which blew up in my face, and I had to spend an hour clearing up. In my training session with the Professor, I was supposed to build a house of cards using my telekinesis, and every time it got to the last two floors, I lost my concentration and it collapsed. I went out for a walk to clear my head, and no thanks to our resident Weather Witch, I got caught in an unexpected rain shower and was too tired to put up a protective TK bubble, so I got drenched. When I tried to take a real shower, it turned out Bobby had had a little 'accident' with his powers, and has everyone had forgotten to tell me, I had the pleasure of suffering an ice-cold shower. I've also got a sore throat; I think I might be coming down with something. Apart from that, great. How was your day?"

He shrugged, "Pretty good, actually. Warren and I spent some time visiting car showrooms. He's thinking of buying a new one."

"Oh."

"You should have called me if you needed help," he told her reproachfully.

"Trust me, if I thought you could, you'd have been the one building houses of cards with your mind."

"I could have at least helped you clean the lab."

"It's okay. I didn't want to call you back. You needed a day off."

Snaking an arm across her shoulders he asked, "Are you too tired to come out with me?"

"Is it important?"

"Yeah. No. It's okay. I can do it tomorrow," he answered, a little disappointed.

She looked over at his fallen expression. "Okay, where do you want to go?" she asked with a sigh.

Just out to the garden.

Swinging her legs over to the edge of the bed, she slipped her feet into a pair of comfortable moccasin-style shoes, which formed a strange combination with her checked sweatpants and Scott's oversized cotton shirt, which she had taken to wearing to bed at night.

"Let's go," she said, oblivious to the disastrous fashion statement she was making, or maybe she was just too tired to really care. Either way, Scott didn't particularly mind.

They walked down the stairs and out the door, on to the lawn, which stretched ahead of them, shrouded in darkness.

"It's a nice night," Scott said, lifting his gaze up towards the sky.

Jean nodded in agreement as she looked up to see the dark sky teeming with the stars of the Milky Way, shining with their glimmering light.

They stood in silence for a while, Scott's arms wrapped around Jean from behind, while she leant into his embrace. He bent down a little, so that his mouth was just a few centimeters away from her ear. Softly he whispered, "Star light, Star bright, I wish my wish comes true tonight," reciting the age old children's rhyme, his voice taking on a sing-song quality.

"What wish would that be?" she asked.

"That you say 'yes',"

"Yes," she murmured sleepily, turning around in his arms to face him.

"You're not supposed to say it yet," he told her. "Wait until I ask you the question first."

Obediently she waited, and he, loosening his grip on her, stared straight into her eyes from behind his glasses and asked, "Will you marry me?"

There was a silence before he prodded her anxiously, "Jean?"

"Yes," she said simply, obeying his earlier request.

He pulled her into a tight hug, before putting his hand into the back pocket of his jeans, pulling out a small box and from it, carefully taking out a ring. "Okay, I've never done this before,. So don't laugh or interrupt, or I'll forget what to do" he said nervously, as he bent down on his knees in front of her, and began to speak, "Once you told me that you loved the stars, and if I could, I'd go up and get them all for you. This may not have been the stars you had in mind when you said that," he said, holding out the ring with its glittering diamond in the center, "but at least it's a start."

Blinking away the tears that had begun to well up in her eyes at his words, she knelt down on the grass beside him, and giving him a kiss, said, "I love you."

"I love you more," he said at once, in defense of his old argument, which had carried on throughout their life as a couple.

"Not possible," she said.

"Sure it is. I had to ask you, didn't I?"

She could have argued, but chose to kiss him again instead.

* * *

Feedback is loved, appreciated and very eagerly awaited.

* * *

Author's note to reviewers without e-mail addresses:

I got a lot of reviews in which there is no e-mail address supplied (not that I'm complaining or anything), so this message is for all the reviewers who choose not to give, or do not have an e-mail id.

Dear nice-reviewers-without-email-addresses,

Thank you so much for all your reviews. I'm going to answer everything you'll have ever asked me over here.

1) Everyone who asked about Warren's 'jerk-ish' behavior: _He was always going to eventually turn out as a 'good guy'. I love Warren (not as much as I love Jean and Scott), but I love him, nonetheless._

2) Everyone who said to update soon: _I'm trying! My teachers just wont ease up on the tests! (pouts)_

3) Everyone who asked if this was a Jean/Scott or a Jean/Warren fic: _The answer is hopefully obvious by now, but just in case it isn't, let me say, "JOTT! JOTT! JOTT!!!!!!!!!"_

4) Everyone who told me this should ideally be in the 'comic section': _Yes, I know. I made a mistake. Please read it anyway, and don't hate me for it. :(_

5) Everyone who asked if it was going to get more graphic: Sorry, but no. It's not that I have anything against reading them, or other people writing them, but personally, I think I'd be absolutely terrible at it. Maybe at some other time.

Yup.... I think that covers it all. Thanks again to all the people who reviewed this fic (E-mail address and non-email address people).

Tasha.

:-)


	20. Epilogue: Petrol In The Sky

Epilogue: Petrol In The Sky

He stood in the doorframe and looked at the scene unfolding before him. Two heads of identically vibrant red hair leaned together over a picture book in what would have appeared to be a serious consultation, if the smaller of the two wasn't lisping her words in the most charming manner, which only a child can posses.

_"Twinkle, twinkle little star,_

_How I wonder what you are._

_Up above the world so high...,"_

The man smiled at the tableau before him, chiming in to his daughter's well-versed nursery rhyme,

_"Up above the world so high,_

_Is there petrol in the sky?"_

The smaller of the two heads whipped around and protested at his words, "Daddy, no! That's a silly rhyme. You have to say, 'Is there diamonds in the sky?'"

"Says who?" he asked, coming forward to scoop his daughter into his arms, and seating himself on the bed beside the woman who was his wife, holding in his daughter tightly in place on his lap.

"Mommy."

"Does she?" he asked, turning towards his wife, who up till this point hadn't said a word.

"Don't tease her, Scott," she said, smacking him lightly on the shoulder.

"I'm not, Jean," he protested. "It's a perfectly valid question, isn't it, Ray?" he asked his three year old, who was wriggling in his lap.

"What's valid?"

"Real and true," he explained.

"Why is it real?"

"So the people in heaven can drive their cars."

She thought about this, a pensive look on her small face, before she disbelievingly turned her back on him, and faced her mother. "Really mommy?"

"Don't you believe daddy, Rachel?" she asked her daughter with an amused smile.

"No," she answered emphatically, sternly adding, "Boys go to Jupiter to get more stupider, Girls go to college to get more knowledge."

"Where did you learn that?"

"Aunty Lorna," she said, leaning over to pull her book towards her, and looking at the picture of a star filled sky, asked once again, "Is there _really _petrol in the sky?"

"What do you think?" Scott asked her, amused.

"I don't know!" she pouted.

"Do people live in the sky?" he questioned.

"Yes," she answered, confidently this time.

"Who?"

"God and all his angels in heaven," she answered with conviction, "but they don't need cars. God is always here with us."

"Who told you that?" Jean asked, surprised at her theological argument.

"Uncle Kurt," she said.

He laughed at her words. "Do you even know how cute you are, kiddo?" he asked, squeezing her tighter.

"As cute as a button," she answered promptly, with a smile that was a mirror image of his own.

"...but _is_ there petrol in the sky?" she asked again, a slightly whiny edge to her voice now.

"No, sweetheart. Daddy's just joking," Jean told her reassuringly.

"See, boys are stupider!" she explained triumphantly, having proven her saying.

_'Is everything alright?'_ Scott projected into Jean's mind.

_'Yes; baby's fine,'_ she replied, bringing her hand to rest near his, atop her slightly bloated stomach, where their unborn child gave a hard kick, as if to confirm its presence.

_'I missed you'll today,'_ he said, looking over from her face to Rachel's, who was now giving her undivided attention to a blank piece of paper and her crayons.

_'Why? What happened?'_

_'Nothing. Can't a man just miss his beautiful wife sometimes?'_

She gave him a soft smile, and turned back to her now yawning child, still studiously bent over her paper, making rapid strokes with a crayon. "Bedtime, Ray."

"Now?"

"Yes."

"Ten minutes more, mommy, please?"

"No, Rachel. It's late enough as it is," Jean replied in answer to her daughter's plea, adding, as she saw the pout forming on her daughter's lips. "But if you go to bed right now, I'll come and read you a story soon."

"Promise?"

"Ofcourse."

Hugging her parents, the girl walked out of the room, and made her way to her own bedroom.

Taking the hand Scott offered her, Jean got up and walked over to pick up Rachel's discarded crayons, pausing, when her gaze fell on the paper her daughter had been drawing on.

"Scott," she said, passing it over to him.

He glanced at it. On the paper, in a childish hand, a picture of a woman and girl with red hair to match a man's red sun glasses had been drawn, along with what appeared to be a baby in the woman's arms. It was a child's typical family drawing. The smiling characters stared out at them from under a dark, night sky, spangled with a combination of yellow stars and grey gasoline cans.

She looked at him, one eyebrow raised.

"When you wish upon a gasoline can?" he asked, at which she laughed, and impetuously hugged him, - her lover, her best friend, her partner, her husband.

He held on to her, his nose buried in her hair, - his soul mate, his high-school sweetheart, his love, his wife.

Their love had flourished through time, grown with age, and survived one life-threatening situation after another. A story of wishes come true, mapped out in the eternal sea of stars, flowing through the endless shroud of the night.

Somethings are just meant to be. She always felt that maybe, they were one of them.

Yeah that's it. It's over now. Thanks for reading.

Feedback is, loved appreciated and begged for..... it is the _last chapter_, after all!


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